“Unlike the man who used them.” As quickly as that, Dau’s mood has changed again. “The sword should stay on Swan Island. It was never Seanan’s or my father’s. Tell Archu that. You should have it. When you come back.”
I have to leave the room. I find my way right outside, dark as it is, and stand in a corner where nobody can see me. I cry until I have no more tears. I splash my face in a water barrel. I take a few deep breaths, reminding myself that I am a Swan Island warrior, I am strong, I can do this. Nobody is going to see me defeated. Not tonight, not tomorrow, not before this wretched year reaches its sorry end and I can come home. And if, at the back of my mind, a question lingers—what sort of homecoming can that be, if I must leave Dau behind at Oakhill?—I’m not ready for the answer.
12
DAU
My brother has decided I am no longer a man. I deduce this from the fact that he does not speak to me direct. As we make our way toward Oakhill he converses with his lawman and his councilor, as well as addressing his head guard when appropriate. If he needs to communicate something to me, he speaks to Liobhan. Only it’s not a request or a suggestion, it’s a barked-out order of some kind, and he doesn’t use her name. To him she’s nothing but a bond servant, and he calls her “girl.”
I know Liobhan pretty well after those months of training and the mission in Breifne, which threw us together and taught us a hard-won trust. In my mind I see her face tight-jawed, fierce-eyed, and I’m furious on her behalf. But I don’t challenge Seanan. The way I am now, I’d only make a pointless exhibition of myself. I want to shout, to punch his jaw, to break something over the man’s head. Every time he speaks, the old hate wells up in me. But I hear Liobhan responding to his commands with scrupulous politeness—I bet the blind man is the only one who can tell she’s fuming—and I feel obliged to match that.
On the first day of riding I acquit myself reasonably well. I think I do. I can mount on my own, provided Liobhan leads me to the right position. I can dismount unassisted. My horse, though no match for Dusk, is well-mannered and compliant. The midday stop and rest, in the shelter of some woodland, is awkward. When a blind man has to take a piss, it wouldn’t be right for a woman to accompany him. The problem is solved when one of the guards, Donn, suggests we go and do the necessary together. Whether this is his own idea or whether Liobhan has signaled to him in some way, I don’t know. His manner is relaxed; he speaks to me as if I were an equal, able-bodied and capable. I thank him.
“Anytime,” he says. “Must be hard to get used to. You being a fighting man and all.”
“It is. Have you been at Oakhill long? In my father’s household?”
“A year or two. Before that, at the court of Dalriada. Left there in pursuit of a lady, but all in vain, sadly. She wed another man.”
“My sympathies.” Liobhan and Brocc lived near the court of Dalriada before they came to Swan Island. Might not this man have heard them playing and singing in that district, perhaps even at court? Liobhan’s not the sort of woman you’d forget quickly. Still, I won’t say anything if he doesn’t. I’ll mention it to her quietly. Perhaps it’s of no consequence, since she’s not under cover here. I’d rather my brother doesn’t find out where her parents live.
“Ah, well. It wasn’t to be,” says Donn. “I’m content enough where I am, for now at least. Better be getting back. The ground’s pretty uneven here; put your hand on my shoulder.” As we make our way back, he adds, “Pays to be careful in the woods. Especially as we head south. Have you heard of the Crow Folk, Master Dau?”
“In tales, yes.” I won’t mention that Liobhan and I have fought them and survived. The Crow Folk haven’t been seen anywhere near Swan Island. But there have been continuing tales of attacks in the southwest.
“There’s a lot of them in the forest south of Oakhill,” Donn says. “Makes it hard for the farmers to protect their stock. And sometimes they’ll attack travelers, too. They do stay away from your father’s house. You’ll be safe there.”
Oh, the irony in that. If only he knew.
We stop for the night at the home of a nobleman known to my brother. We’re still in Dalriada, but sufficiently far south to be well clear of the court and of Liobhan’s home at Winterfalls, where she and I went after Brocc’s departure. That is a good place. Homely, safe, quiet. It’s far enough away from other dwellings to be restful, but near enough so folk can reach both of her parents when they’re needed, which is often, since Mistress Blackthorn is a healer and Master Grim seems able to turn his hand to almost anything, though his principal craft is thatching. Sometimes, when I’ve been lying awake at night, I’ve wondered if Liobhan’s mother might know of some remarkable, obscure way to restore a man’s vision, something two expert physicians have never heard of. I’ve wished I was back in Breifne, difficult as that time was, so I could visit Mistress Juniper and spill out everything to her, as I did once before. She is the only person who has heard the full story of what my brothers did to Snow. Even Liobhan knows only part of it. I can’t hear Seanan’s voice without seeing that day in my mind. I can’t hear it without wishing I had my knife in my hand and just enough vision to find my brother and kill him. Who cares what happens after that? They can string me up from the nearest tree. A quick ending that would break my neck but not my promise to Liobhan. I can’t do it, of course. That would leave her at my father’s mercy.
I’m given a small chamber to myself. Very small; when I stretch out my arms I can touch both walls. There’s a narrow pallet, a chest, a shelf. The room is cold. It feels damp. Somewhere along the way, as they were bringing me here, I lost Liobhan. Where have they taken her? I think of a lot of questions I don’t want to ask, such as how do I get to the privy at night if I need to, and what happens if I wake with my head throbbing—a common occurrence—and need help. “A bucket might be useful,” I say. “A jug of water and a cup, if that can be managed.” I think I succeed in sounding polite. Is there anyone still here from our own party, or am I with strangers now, servants in this household?
“That will be arranged, of course,” someone says.
“Thank you. Is there a healer or physician in this house?”
A silence that feels awkward. “Not in the house, no. Are you unwell?”
I swallow bitter laughter. “No more so than usual,” I say. “The woman who traveled with us, Liobhan, has been tending to me along the way. Do you know where she will be accommodated?”
There’s a muttered consultation, which tells me that these are household serving folk and that all they’ve been told is to bring me and my bags to this room. “She’ll be in the women’s quarters,” one of them says. “Over at the eastern end, quite a walk from here.”
I could make a fuss. But that might bring my brother. There’s a rich aroma of roasted meat wafting by; I imagine these folk will give us supper. Perhaps, after that, I will have a night without dreams. “Could you show me where the privy is? If I’m on my own, I’ll need to be able to find my way there and back.”
I don’t hear the answer, because Liobhan’s voice cuts through the others, full of energy even after the long day’s ride. I hear her footsteps as she strides along the hallway toward us. “There must be some mistake. Are you aware that Master Dau is Lord Scannal’s son? He’s recovering from an injury and he needs a more appropriate chamber, with enough space for me to tend to him if required.” A silence. “If you please,” Liobhan adds.
“We had instructions to bring him here,” one of the men says.
“Instructions from whom?”
“Liobhan.” I try to convey a subtle warning. I can guess who gave the order, and I know I don’t want Liobhan clashing with my brother so soon. She doesn’t know Seanan as I do. She doesn’t know how deep that streak of cruelty goes. “I’ve slept in worse places.”
“Who’s going to measure out a draft for you if you wake in pain? I’ve been told there’s no healer
in the place and nothing else arranged.”
“I expect I’ll survive one night.”
“And get on your horse and ride again all day tomorrow?”
One of the servants clears his throat. “We’re just carrying out our instructions.”
“Might I speak to the household steward?” asks Liobhan. Although she’s still courteous, the tone she strikes is that of a grand lady, someone whose orders everyone will jump to obey, and in front of these people I can’t tell her to shut up and leave this alone.
“It’s not for us to question—” the man begins, then falls silent as a new voice is heard from along the hallway.
“Is there a problem here?” Seanan has a manner with servants that sends them scurrying to do whatever he asks.
“A slight difficulty, Master Seanan.” That’s Liobhan, her tone quite different now, hushed and almost servile. “Your brother has not been sleeping well. He often needs attention during the night—someone close at hand to administer drafts or bathe his eyes. This chamber does not have space for that, and there’s nowhere for me—or whoever will be looking after him—to sleep nearby. Also, he needs a comfortable bed.” A pause. “One appropriate to his station in life,” she adds.
“Isn’t he a warrior now?” If anything, Seanan sounds amused. “I thought fighting men were used to hard beds. You, too, if what they tell me is correct. This seems entirely appropriate. I advised our host that Dau would likely wake at night, perhaps several times. That he might shout, scream, and become aggressive. That was made plain enough in the testimony we heard. Now, that was a definition of uncomfortable. I’m grateful to our host for accommodating our whole party overnight. I don’t wish to cause his household any inconvenience, so I requested that my brother be housed in an isolated chamber. These two fine fellows are doing exactly what they’ve been ordered to do.” Another silence. I imagine Seanan lifting his brows, showing Liobhan that face. “Surely I don’t need to remind you why Dau is in this situation,” he says. “If you wish to be at his beck and call night and day, so be it. I know nothing of your relationship before this, except that you enjoy hurting each other in front of an audience.”
I imagine Liobhan clenching her fists, tightening her jaw. I wait for her to bite back, but she says nothing at all.
“You two, bring the girl’s bags here. Ask my men-at-arms which ones they are. Get her a blanket. She can sleep on the floor.”
The servingmen depart. My brother does not. I feel his presence as an animal might, with some sense I cannot name. I feel danger. I feel menace. I feel a creeping terror that is oh so familiar. And I’m angry. But showing that will only make things worse.
“Odd,” I remark, “how losing one’s vision makes folk leap to the conclusion that one is suddenly also deaf and lackwitted. I suppose I will grow accustomed to being treated as invisible. Liobhan, you have a long ride ahead; if the steward can offer you a good bed in the women’s quarters, take it. I will get by until morning.”
“The floor’s fine,” she says. “Thank you, Master Seanan.”
Another silence. In the distance, I hear the sound of platters and knives being set on a table, and folk talking. Seanan is still here.
“Cozy arrangement,” he observes in his silkiest tone. “You and the girl, I mean. A tight squeeze on that narrow bed, but you’ll find ways around that. Was that how it was in that place, fighting on the field by day, a wrestle in the sheets by night? My baby brother, hmm? Never would have thought you had it in you, little man. Scared of an unkind word. Spooked by your own shadow.”
“Enough!” says Liobhan. Her tone has changed completely. “You speak nonsense. Vicious nonsense.”
The sound of a blow is sudden and shocking in the quiet of the house. I feel Liobhan flinch beside me, and my hand goes up instantly to lock itself around Seanan’s wrist. If I weren’t so furious I’d be pleased I got it the first time, guided by sound alone. I say very quietly, “No.”
“I’m all right, Dau.” Liobhan speaks with perfect calm. “An open-handed slap, that was all. Master Seanan, you have an agreement with the Swan Island elders, signed and witnessed, that my personal safety is assured while I live in your house. I didn’t anticipate that you would break that agreement quite so soon. Is this the way you expect to continue?”
“Let me go, little brother.” Seanan’s speaking through gritted teeth.
“Answer the question first.”
“The agreement has not been broken. This is not my house. I warn you, girl, that if you speak out in this way, if you challenge my decisions or those of my father, you will quickly find yourself in serious trouble. I do not believe for one moment that Dau’s injury was accidental. From now on, do not ever forget that you travel with me not as a guest or as a healer or even as a companion for my wretched brother here, but as a bond servant making amends for a crime against my family. In my household you will be the lowest of the low. You will work as you have never worked before. When you address me, it will be in a manner appropriate to my status and yours. Do I make myself understood?”
“Perfectly, Master Seanan. Do you make a habit of striking your servants when they speak the truth?”
He moves, perhaps to deliver a matching blow on the other cheek, but my grip is firm. Not firm enough to crush his bones, but close. And now I have the other wrist, and I push him back until he stumbles and almost falls. “I do not have such an agreement, brother. And although I am blind, I am still a warrior. Do not forget that.”
“Guards!” Seanan calls, not in the tone of a man who fears for his safety, but in the tone of a person who expects instant obedience. When I hear the footsteps of booted men along the hallway, I release my brother’s wrists and step back. Liobhan puts a hand on my arm lightly.
“My lord?” A man’s voice; one of the guards.
“My brother is not himself. I just witnessed a fit of violent behavior. Can this chamber be locked from the out—”
“Something amiss, Master Seanan?” A new voice; thank the gods, it’s Master Beanón, who knows all about that agreement, and with luck will not believe that I’ve gone suddenly mad.
And now another voice, calm and practical. “I hope all’s well here, Master Seanan. Young lady, my people are bringing your belongings over from the women’s quarters; I’m told you need to be close to the invalid during the night. This may not be the ideal chamber. We do have some quarters that are used from time to time when folk get sick, far more capacious and, as luck would have it, not currently occupied. Oh, I am Gáeth, steward to the household. Master Seanan, supper is about to be served—you might leave this problem with me and go through to the dining hall with Master Beanón? Master Dau, welcome. I will arrange for supper to be brought to you—a long day, you won’t want a lot of fuss and noise. Come this way, please. And you, young lady.”
Liobhan offers an arm and I take it. Gáeth is clearly a person of much authority; even my brother has fallen silent, perhaps wondering if someone will ask how Liobhan got a mark on her face—that blow may have been open handed, but it sounded hard enough to leave a bruise. Beanón murmurs something to Seanan, and when Liobhan leads me off after the steward the two of them do not follow, and nor do the guards. I silently offer Gáeth my profound thanks.
Some time later, Liobhan and I are seated in a far more commodious chamber, with an antechamber large enough to take a pallet where she can sleep. The main room has a hearth with a fire; there’s a table holding a jug and cups and a lamp. There’s a bucket of fresh well water, and she’s been given the items she requested to make up a wash for my eyes. Our bags are here; Liobhan has checked them to make sure our possessions are intact. My bed, perhaps one on which folk have lain in fever or dropsy or wasting sickness—it may have seen a corpse or two—is twice as big as the one first offered, and furnished with linen sheets and goose-feather pillows. All this I know because Liobhan made me walk around the place
while she described it.
A servingman has brought us food on a tray: roast beef, root vegetables in a bread sauce, a pudding with fruit, and ale. Liobhan describes that as well, though the smell is clue enough. Now we sit and eat before the fire. It feels as if we’re suddenly in a completely different world.
“The calm before the next storm,” I say.
“Mm. We should be glad of it while we have it,” says Liobhan.
“How’s your face?”
“It was nothing.”
I knew she would say that. “Sounded like a hard blow.”
“I expect I’ll have a bruise tomorrow, and if anyone asks me how I got it, I’ll tell them the truth.”
“He’ll be watching every move,” I say. “Remembering every word. You’ve already provoked him into hitting you. Keep going the way you are and you won’t survive the first week, let alone a year.” Gods, I wish we could make ourselves disappear. If only I could see, if only I was myself again, we could use what we’ve learned on Swan Island to escape our escort somewhere between here and Oakhill. We could get right away to someplace where nobody’s heard of us. Make an entirely new life. But that’s not possible. Blind, I’m no comrade to anyone. I’m a burden. How could I ask Liobhan to toss away her whole future for me? If she can get through the wretched year, she can have her old life back. That’s what matters.
When the meal is finished we sit awhile, enjoying the warmth of the fire. I’m tired; I have aches and pains that don’t bode well for tomorrow’s ride. It’s dawning on me that when I ride blind I hold myself much tighter than I should. I should ask Liobhan for a salve. But I don’t want to. It would make me feel weak.
“Don’t know about you,” she says, “but I could do with a good wash. And I’d best apply some salve to my face. It wouldn’t hurt for both of us to put something on our joints, too. Another long ride tomorrow. I’ll see if I can procure some warm water, yes?”
A Dance with Fate Page 12
