A Dance with Fate

by Juliet Marillier

  I force my thoughts away from Oakhill, away from Dau and his poxy kinsfolk, and over the miles to my own family. Mother. How much I wish you were here to give me some wise advice, though you’d hate this household, and since you’re even worse than I am at keeping your mouth shut, it’s just as well you’re miles away. Father. You’d know how to fix the drainage problem. But first, I’d like a big hug, I’d like a warm smile, I’d like to know that I am a good person and that I can keep on going, no matter what. Galen, my big brother. I’d love a joke, a laugh, a wrestle, good company and good conversation. I wouldn’t mind being a little sister, just for a bit. Brocc. Oh, Brocc, where are you and what are you doing? I miss you so much. I miss your wonderful voice, your magical hands on the harp, your wit and your kindness. I hope you’re all right. I hope you’re safe. I hope you found happiness in that strange realm. While I’m lying here waiting, I might make up a song for you. Because if you were in my place, that is exactly what you would do.

  14

  DAU

  So,” says my father. “You return at last. Would that the circumstances were different.”

  Six years, it has been, and these are his first words to me. I’m taken aback by his voice. He sounds old. Old and uncertain. We are in a council chamber, where I sense other people are present. My father has not taken the trouble to tell me who they are, though I heard Seanan’s voice as I came in, and that of Naithí the councilor. No Liobhan. No Ruarc, as far as I can tell.

  This house makes me sick. It makes my gut tighten and turns my skin cold and clammy. Every room is full of old nightmares. It takes only one sound, one smell to bring them flooding back. I must hold myself together. I will be strong. “As you see, Father.” I will not refer to the incident that blinded me. I will not apologize for being a burden. I will not ask where Liobhan is. “If I said I was glad to be home I’d be lying. I agree that the circumstances are unfavorable. But my brother negotiated a generous price on your behalf. You will have more than adequate resources to keep a blind man in your house, even in the unlikely event that I live to fifty or more.”

  Seanan mutters something; someone responds with a muted chuckle.

  “We’ll look at other possibilities for you,” says Father. “At the time of your abrupt departure, it was clear that you had no interest in returning to your home and family.” Not a word of sorrow at what has befallen me. Not a trace of apology for things past.

  I count silently to five. “What do you mean, other possibilities?”

  Seanan speaks; perhaps Father has indicated that he should take over. “You could go to Ruarc at St. Padraig’s. The monks have a facility for the crippled, the maimed, and the indigent. That would be more appropriate.”

  I count to five again. “Indigent,” I echo. “With over seven hundred silver pieces paid for my upkeep.”

  “Better that money goes to the monks, who surely need it more than I do,” my father says. “St. Padraig’s has an infirmarian, healers, folk who can provide what a blind man needs.” Even as he speaks these practical words, his voice is unsteady, almost quavering. I remember him as confident, strong, fierce in his authority. This sounds like a different man. “They would welcome you.”

  I hear what is unsaid. And we wouldn’t. “Did you say Ruarc is at the monastery? You mean my brother Ruarc? In what capacity?”

  “Sit down, Dau,” says my father, using my name for the first time since I came in. “Someone guide him to the bench.”

  Someone does; I want to shake off that careful hand. “I cannot believe that Ruarc, of all people, has become a monk.” Ruarc, Seanan’s obedient servant in everything, whether it was hunting or hawking or bullying the defenseless. Ruarc, who held me back while Seanan tortured Snow to death. How could such a man call himself a follower of any god? How could he take up a life of prayer?

  “Yet that is exactly what he is, little brother.” There’s a sneering amusement in Seanan’s voice. “We anticipate that he will rise within the Church and one day hold a position of great influence.”

  Wonderful. When Father is gone, we’ll have Seanan as chieftain of Oakhill and Ruarc as prior.

  “Of course,” Father puts in, “we know your heart was never in your prayers. I don’t imagine that has changed.”

  I see no need to respond to this, so I remain silent. I’m still reeling from that news. Ruarc in a religious order. He must have told a lot of lies; so must the rest of the family. Perhaps Father made a generous donation to the monastic foundation. I shouldn’t be so surprised. As for the infirmary and healers and so on, in a way that would be a reprieve. Even with Ruarc close at hand, St. Padraig’s would surely be better than this house full of dark memories. But I cannot pretend to be a Christian. I lost any vestige of faith years ago, when I was still a child. I do not want monkish attendants spouting their doctrine in my ears day in, day out. They’d probably tell me my condition is God’s punishment because I’m too proud, or because I ran away from home, or because I did not obey my father. And I would become so angry I would be tempted to acts of violence. Besides, there’s Liobhan. She certainly won’t be going to any monastery. She’s stuck here with my father and Seanan for the next year. If I’m not here, who will make sure she’s safe?

  I promised myself I wouldn’t ask. But I do. “What provisions have you made for Liobhan? Where is she accommodated and what work will she be required to do?”

  This is greeted first with total silence. Then Seanan starts to laugh, and others join in.

  “Your friend is not here as an honored guest,” Father says after the amusement has died down. “Have you never heard of a bond servant, Dau? Both her accommodation and her work will be appropriate to that status. Whether you stay here or go to St. Padraig’s, you will see very little of her. In the light of what happened, that is just as well.”

  “I see.” I won’t give them any more ammunition to use against me. It was stupid to ask. I’ll find out what I want to know later, from someone else. There must be a household steward here. Your friend. I want to tell Father she’s a warrior. I want to say she could probably beat any of his men-at-arms in combat without making much of an effort. “That is most interesting, Father. I am rather weary after the day’s ride. Might I retire now to wherever you intend to put me? Or were you planning to send me off to St. Padraig’s straightaway, before we’ve had the opportunity to discuss it properly? A night’s rest under this roof would seem appropriate. A meal, if you can stretch to that. And I would like a word with your steward. I don’t suppose Torna is still here.” Torna was steward when I left here. To my thirteen-year-old self, he seemed ancient. But he was kind.

  I hear Father rise to his feet; other folk do the same.

  “That place has taught you an insolent manner, if nothing else,” Father says. He clicks his fingers. “Iarla, show Master Dau to his quarters.” He raises his voice. “Clear this chamber!”

  I feel the room change; there’s a sound of soft steps and the rustle of fine clothing as the occupants depart. None of them are talking, though this is sure to be the subject of gossip outside my father’s hearing.

  The steward comes—another gentle touch on the arm—and I’m guided out of the chamber and through various hallways. Either Iarla is naturally more talkative than the others I’ve encountered here or he just has better manners. He introduces himself. He refers to me as Master Dau. He asks me if I’m hungry, and whether I’d prefer to eat before or after I wash off the dust of another day’s riding. I’m so grateful I could cry. Which just goes to show how low I’ve fallen.

  I thank him and answer his questions. If Iarla was here before I ran away, I don’t remember him. He sounds young. Back then he’d have been a junior servant of some kind, scrubbing pots or cutting up onions. He might have known nothing about the trials that saw me flee from home.

  “You understand, Master Dau,” he says quietly, “that Master Seanan has given us
precise instructions as to what is to be provided for you and what we may or may not discuss.”

  “If I’m to have a chamber to myself, might we go there and talk briefly behind closed doors, Iarla? I won’t push you to break the rules. I can imagine what the penalty might be.” I keep my voice to a murmur. He can see if anyone is about, but I can’t, though I’m finding that my hearing serves quite well.

  He’s good. Just as good as the estimable Gáeth in his own way. When we reach the chamber that is to be mine, there’s a guard at the door, and Iarla asks him politely to go and speak to someone about water for bathing, then takes me inside and closes the door behind us.

  “What would be most useful, Master Dau? Should I describe the room to you? Lead you around so you can find what you need?”

  There must be a hearth; the chamber feels warm. “Later,” I say. “Show me where to sit down, you sit, too, and if you can answer some questions for me, please do. I will understand if your orders forbid that.”

  We sit on a bench. I sense the room is quite small; if I’m to have a personal attendant, I doubt he’ll be sharing my quarters. “My father spoke of sending me to St. Padraig’s. If that didn’t happen, Iarla, what would be available for me here? A companion, a guard, a healer? Where am I to eat, to exercise, to spend my time? Am I a member of the family, or am I to be shut away?” When Iarla does not reply, I say, “I’m sorry. Perhaps you could answer the practical questions. That seemed quite a long walk.”

  “This chamber is at some distance from the family apartments. It’s on the eastern side of the house, near the stillroom—you will remember that, of course. This wing is partly closed up at present; it serves as additional accommodation when there are many guests.”

  “If I need assistance, who do I call and how? In time I will relearn my way about, I expect; that’s if I stay here. But for now I will struggle. The privy, the bathhouse, and wherever I am to take my meals—I will need help to find all those. And . . . up until now, since I lost my vision, I have had a healer in attendance, or someone who could perform nursing duties. If this is close to the stillroom, I wondered . . .”

  “I’ve been given no instructions on those matters, Master Dau. Perhaps your father anticipates that you will move to the monastery almost immediately. I will find you an attendant, someone who can stay close and help you find your way to the bathhouse and so on. And perform such tasks as tending the fire. I will do that straightaway.” He hesitates.

  “But it will require my father’s approval?”

  “I’d need to ask Master Seanan. He’s in charge of the arrangements. But I won’t trouble him with it tonight. There’s a young man I have in mind; he’s working in the kitchen at present but will welcome a change, no doubt. As for healers, we rely on the infirmarians from St. Padraig’s. They provide for the whole community, this household included. They will visit if their services are required.”

  “Thank you. Perhaps you would walk to the privy with me now, so I can learn the way.” This is humiliating, even when it’s a kind man who’s doing the favor. The rest of my life is going to be like this—one step forward, two steps back. Trapped in a world whose boundaries seem ever shrinking.

  Iarla walks me to the privy and back. I count the steps we take; I commit to my mind the left and right turns, the paths that slope or wind about, the obstacles that must be avoided. Back at my allocated chamber, he shows me the bed, the small table, the bench, the shelf for my belongings. My bag is here; someone has brought it in. Iarla offers to unpack for me.

  “I’ll manage, thank you. Iarla, before you go, can you tell me where they’ve accommodated the woman who rode here with our party?”

  Another silence. Then he says, “I’m not sure I can answer that, Master Dau.”

  “Please. I do know this house; just a hint will be enough.”

  I wait, and after a little he says, “The old hut downhill from the stables would have been here in your time, wouldn’t it? Near that marshy spot.”

  I nod thanks, and Iarla leaves, promising to send me the servant he mentioned. I think of the old hut down from the stables and the area beside it. Marshy? Unless it’s changed in the years since I left, that’s a place not even a frog would want to inhabit. Though any frog that ventured there would be well fed, since the spot is rich in insect life. I imagine Liobhan writing a verse about that, a comical one that would send her after-supper audiences into gales of laughter. Or a whistle tune. It might be called “Bullfrog’s Delight.” But it’s no laughing matter. That hut is not fit for anyone to stay in. She’ll get sick. She won’t be able to work. Maybe that’s Seanan’s plan. Make her ill then punish her for not working hard enough. That would be just like him. They’ve put us at opposite ends of the house. That must be deliberate.

  When the boy from the kitchen comes, he brings my supper with him. He’s nervous. Eager to please. But awkward, especially when I need help. I remind myself that this is by no means the worst they could have done for me. The chamber is comfortable, though small. The food is good. One important thing is missing, and I doubt anyone’s mentioned it to this boy.

  As I eat, I try to engage him in conversation. His name is Corb and this is his first position in a noble household. His family are on a smallholding to the south. He has two brothers who work the land, so he ended up here, thanks to a family connection with Iarla. I wish I could tell him to go back home and tend to the sheep or goats or whatever it is, and not stay under my father’s roof. My guess is he’s not much older than I was when I left. If he’s been given the duty of attending to me, he’s right in the path of every weapon my brother has.

  “Shall I take the tray back to the kitchen, Master Dau?”

  I’m going to say no, but I change my mind. This is a good opportunity not only to gain some information, but also to let Corb know what he might be in for. “Before you do that, go and see what’s in the chamber next to this and any others close by. Find somewhere you can sleep. I wake at night sometimes and need attention—a draft to dull pain, a wash for my eyes . . .” I pity the lad. How can I expect him to take charge? He probably expected no more than clearing a tray or two and folding my clothes. “I’ll speak more to Iarla in the morning,” I say. “But do fetch your bedding and find a spot, somewhere you can hear me if I call you.”

  Corb takes himself out. I wonder if I should have offered to share my meal with him. He comes back in not long after. “Master Dau? The chamber next but one is empty. I’ll bring a broom. There are spiders.”

  Why am I not surprised? “Good work, Corb. Take the tray now, and fetch what you need from your own quarters.” What am I doing to the poor lad? Who’d want to be stuck with me, at my beck and call night and day? I should say yes to St. Padraig’s and swallow my pride. That would be best for everyone. Except Liobhan.

  “Thank you, Master Dau.” Corb sounds hesitant.

  “For what?”

  “I’ve never had a room of my own to sleep in before. Always crammed in with my brothers, or with the other serving boys here. I’ll do my best. I promise.”

  Oh, gods. “Off you go, then,” I say, hoping the sinking feeling in my heart is not a premonition of things to come.

  15

  LIOBHAN

  I scratch another mark on the wall of my extremely modest new home, using a rusty nail. My knives vanished on the first day. It was no more than I expected. They must have been removed between the bags being taken when we first arrived and my getting them back in the hut. Who has them now? Those are my own good knives, the ones I’ve used for years. They know the shape of my hands. The smaller one was my only weapon in a battle with the Crow Folk, those pestilent bird-like creatures that haunt the forest near the court of Breifne. Dau fought alongside me that day, and so did Brocc, not with knives but with his voice. That was the moment when I really understood, deep down, how strong the fey part of my brother was. I was shocked. But also
impressed. I’d hardly begun to understand what was going on before Brocc took himself off to live in the Otherworld. We were so close, he and I. It made no difference that he was given to our parents as a tiny infant, not born to them. We grew up like twins, almost the same age, doing everything together. I wish Brocc was here now. I wish we could play some music together. At least whoever took my weapons left me the two whistles. Could be I’m far enough from everyone here in my swampy corner that playing a tune won’t draw attention. I want to play. Music gives me heart. But if someone hears me they might take away the whistles. I can’t risk that.

  I’m sitting outside the hut on a makeshift bench I’ve constructed from some bits and pieces I found on a scrap heap behind the barn. My markings on the wall add up to six days, which is not much when you think of a whole year ahead. But every mark is one day closer to Swan Island.

  For the first three days I worked on the drains. As a bond servant I don’t question orders, so even though I knew a better way to do the job, I couldn’t suggest it. I couldn’t say the plan was rubbish. But once the fellow in charge—a hard-faced individual named Berrach—saw that I was capable of doing the work unsupervised, he took himself off and left me to it. So I changed the method, not so much that it’d attract attention, just enough so there’d be a better outflow from the cesspool and less of a buildup of household waste day by day. It meant a lot of digging at the start. I had to borrow a hurdle and a couple of sacks from the lads at the stables so I could bring down a load of small stones to line the bottom of my new drain. It’s done now, it looks good, and it works. My back and shoulders hurt, but I don’t mind that.

  I thought for a bit that they weren’t going to feed me. On that first day I worked all morning and although folk turned their heads to look at me from a distance, nobody called me to breakfast. Berrach hadn’t come back and he hadn’t said anything about meals, just told me to keep working and not wander off. When I started feeling dizzy, I disobeyed that order and walked over to the stables. As soon as the workers up there saw me, one of them told me to sit down and another fetched a cup of water and put it in my hands. I must’ve been looking as strange as I was feeling. And smelling like the cesspool I’d been working in. I sat and drank and pretty soon there was a small crowd around me. No women among them, of course. I saw an older man walking over, a person with an air of authority, and I thought I was in trouble. But he asked my name and whether I’d had anything to eat, and pretty soon I had a slab of bread and cheese in my hand and they were all introducing themselves and each other.