The Dark Mirror

by Juliet Marillier

  The word hung in the silence, full of hope and of danger.

  “Besides,” put in Fola briskly, “he’ll need to be seen at court sometime. If not yet, then most certainly in the next few years. Before too long he must be made known to Drust. Winning the king’s favor now can only strengthen Bridei’s chances later. There are other young men with closer ties of royal kinship, Carnach of Thorn Bend for one. We’ll get nowhere with a candidate who is unknown, however apt he may be.”

  “Come,” Broichan said, “let us sit down and share this mead. And give me your honest opinion.” It was the king’s councillor he watched, Aniel of the cautious eyes and guarded expression. “How long do we have? Another five years? Seven?”

  Aniel cleared his throat. “One must hope for that at least,” he said, “or this boy, likely as he is, will simply be too young. The king’s health is no better than reasonable; he’s susceptible to winter chills and finds it hard to catch his breath. Still, barring anything untoward, he may see another seven years. More, if the gods smile on us.”

  “We must all pray for that,” said Fola. She turned her shrewd gaze on Broichan, who met it with his own, dark and inscrutable. “Drust needs you at court, old friend,” the wise woman went on. “He misses your wise judgment, your faultless counsel.”

  “There are others to guide him,” Broichan said crisply. “Aniel among them; who better qualified? Drust can manage without me.”

  “He’d have a better chance of keeping the factions under control and making some real progress on the western front if he had you by his side,” Aniel observed. “He trusts you; he always did, for he knows your power to be god-given. Me, he merely tolerates.”

  “Then you must work to change his attitude.” There was a touch of sharpness in Broichan’s tone now, and Aniel’s mouth tightened. “I swore fifteen years of my life to this task, and fifteen years I will give, more if I must, to see it through. Drust’s anxieties are one thing. We speak tonight of the future of Fortriu; of the very survival of our people.”

  “Tine rhetoric,” Talorgen commented, “but of no avail should the Gaels gather themselves to strike in two years, in four years, in five. How long can we wait for our new king while the old one slowly weakens and our enemies draw close? Your presence at court would give Drust new heart. Your influence might see Circinn coaxed or bullied to the council table. It would provide a visible check for those who seek subtly to destabilize the king’s rule and grasp at opportunities for themselves. The boy could come to Caer Pridne with you. I understand the need for protectors; we’d arrange that.”

  “Protectors did not keep poison from my lips last time I ventured to the court of Drust the Bull. Protectors did not prevent assassins from entering my woods. I have more effective arrangements in place now, but these are momentous matters, perilous times. The boy is young; young and innocent. He knows nothing of what we intend for him; I’ve kept the knowledge of his mother’s true identity from him. He will apply himself more effectively to learning if he does not bear the heavy weight of our expectations on his shoulders. It’s not appropriate to expose him to the dangers of court, believe me.”

  Now they were all looking at him.

  “What I believe,” Aniel said rather pointedly, “is the hitherto unbelievable: that Broichan the superbly detached has managed to grow fond of his foster son and simply wishes to retain him at home a little longer. Such soft thoughts could be dangerous, my dear druid; they could surely get in the way of our shared purpose.”

  “Come now.” Uist spoke without turning. “We cannot afford to squabble amongst ourselves. Fola, you suggest a compromise. Let’s all agree to it, then let the gods make the choice for us once and for all.”

  Fola clasped her neat, small hands before her on the table. “Very well,” she said. “He stays here a few years more, for you’re right, the lad is still young. But from now on you allow visitors. Perhaps Talorgen’s own children might spend a summer here. That would be safe, surely. You let Bridei out a bit, with suitable protection. A boy should be allowed to see the village festivals, to enjoy some good music and good company. Black Crow only knows what sort of a family life you’ve managed to provide for the lad all alone in this household of dour retainers. Bridei’s mother would be horrified. It must have been hard enough for her to part with him; to make a choice. Anfreda always understood the importance of faith, the power of the old ways in uniting the Priteni and maintaining our people’s strength. She gave us the son best fitted to carry out the great task ahead: the wisest, the strongest, the one in whom her own blood ran most purely. But she’s a mother; it must have hurt her terribly to send him away. I imagine she thought he’d be brought up in company with other children, or she’d never have let us have him.”

  Broichan said nothing.

  “In a year or two you send him to stay with Talorgen at Raven’s Well,” the wise woman went on. “He’ll be a young man by then, and needing a period in the house of a war leader. Dreseida is his mother’s kin; she’ll welcome it, surely. By then, you’ll have told him of his lineage and destiny. From there, Talorgen can introduce him to court along with his own sons. That way the boy’s less likely to attract the wrong kind of attention. He’ll still spend some time here, of course. You can’t go past Erip and Wid for learning. I don’t know how you coaxed those two old rascals out of their self-imposed exile, but you could hardly have done better.”

  Broichan was staring into the fire as if he had not heard her.

  “You’re worried,” Talorgen said. “Arm him with knowledge and skills. And give him good guards as well. Donal’s the best; he’ll travel with the boy, of course. I’ll provide others, discreetly. His presence at Caer Pridne will simply be as my son’s friend. We can avoid undue notice, I think.”

  “If we knew which enemies are to be feared and which are simply to be watched, this would be managed a good deal more easily. There will be several likely candidates for kingship when the time comes. Each will have his supporters. Each will be vulnerable.”

  “This is far in the future,” Fola said. “There’s plenty of time for planning. Now, are we agreed?”

  “Let us wait until the solstice.” If Broichan had had a moment of uncertainty, it was past; his tone was commanding. “If the gods speak, if they confirm for us what we believe to be true, then this shall unfold as you suggest.”

  “And if not?” Aniel’s brows arched in query.

  “If not, I will return him to his father in Gwynedd,” Broichan said smoothly. “Now let us retire; we’ll talk again tomorrow. I understand Talorgen’s made a commitment to an early morning ride. My foster son is keeping him busy. Good night, my friends; may the Shining One guard your dreams.”

  The men made their courteous farewells each in turn. Fola, however, remained seated at the oak table and, seeing the look in her eyes, Broichan closed the door behind the others and returned to sit opposite the wise woman.

  “Well?” he demanded. “Have I displeased you in some way?”

  Fola’s expression suggested an inquisition was forthcoming. “Displeased? No, old friend. But you have added another surprise to the one I had on my way here through the Glen. There were references in tonight’s conversation to Bridei’s isolation, to the lack of company for him in a household of grown men and women.”

  And?”

  “Not true, is it?” the wise woman said, helping herself from the jug of mead and filling a goblet for the druid. “There’s not just one child in the stronghold of the enigmatic and powerful Broichan, onetime royal mage and councillor. There are two.”

  A barely perceptible frown appeared on Broichan’s brow. He did not speak.

  “How did she come here?” Fola asked more gently. “I heard a little tale about the moon and the winter solstice.”

  “Who told you this?” His tone was icy.

  “Never mind that. You owe me an answer. Bridei’s rearing is not your privilege alone, however hard your need for control grips you, my friend
. It is ours; it is a god-given task for the five of us. The members of our council do not lie to one another.”

  “I did not do so.”

  “You withheld the truth. It is the same. This is a matter that could affect the boy’s future. You should have made this known before. She’s been here six years, I gather. A child’s attitudes can be fixed in a span far shorter than that. Why did you keep her? Sentimentality has never been part of your nature; compassion is not your outstanding quality.”

  The druid allowed himself a frosty smile. “You are forthright with your opinions, as ever, Fola.”

  “I see no need to withhold or temper them with you. You are strong enough to hear the truth.”

  “Tell me how you heard of the child, the girl. She’s not here now. You cannot have seen her.”

  “You’re surely not attempting a bargain? A tit for tat exchange of information?” Fola’s brows rose in feigned shock.

  “Would I dare such a thing, with Fola the Ferocious fixing her eyes on me in awful judgment? It was simply a request. My household is bound to secrecy on this, as on many other matters. I must know who breached that promise. There is no place for disobedience at Pitnochie.”

  “Does the same rule apply for children?” Fola asked lightly.

  “All must obey. There are no breaches of discipline—” Broichan paused. “What are you saying? That you met the girl herself? That Tuala spoke to you?”

  “The very same, six years old and fighting the longing for home with all her considerable strength,” the wise woman said, folding her arms on the table before her. “I walked right by the place where it seems you sent her to be out of sight. She’d no wish to break any promises, Broichan. She held her silence grimly; it took quite a bit of work to get the story out.”

  “She will be punished,” the druid said levelly. “Her place in my household is tenuous at best; the child may be young, but she understands the penalty for disobedience.”

  “Which is?” Fola’s tone revealed nothing of her thoughts.

  “This household cannot shelter her if she does not follow its rules.”

  “You would send her . . . where?”

  Broichan frowned. “You saw what she is, no doubt. The tale is true: the infant was left on my doorstep at Midwinter, under a full moon. Bridei awoke and took her in; it is his belief that the Shining One entrusted this child to him, to us; that the goddess put her in our keeping. The boy won my household over by a simple trick of hearth magic. By the time I returned from Caer Pridne she was the beating heart of the place, and there was no sending her away”

  “A problem,” observed Fola quietly. “Come, drink your mead and stop being so stuffy about this. I understand your feelings and your difficulties. I haven’t been a teacher of young women all these years for nothing. It’s clear to me the girl has a deep attachment to Bridei; no doubt he feels the same, based on his conviction that the spirits have appointed him as her protector. The fact that you denied him the company of other children has no doubt strengthened the bond. They view themselves as sister and brother; they need one another, since both have been deprived of family.”

  “As foster father,” Broichan’s voice was tight, “I have done my best to guide and support the boy. He has the finest of tutors and a household in which all his daily needs are met.”

  “How sad,” Fola observed, “that you seem to believe that is sufficient. Why did you send Tuala away? She seems a quiet and polite sort of child, one who would hardly be an embarrassment, even in the company of four daunting strangers.”

  “Come now, that’s somewhat disingenuous. She is what she is. Therein lies the dilemma. I must respect the gods; I do not have it in me to disobey the Shining One, should Bridei’s theory be correct. I have taught him to respect all forms of life and to view all beings as parts of the same interwoven whole. So, Tuala stayed. A simple matter, had Bridei been my true son and destined for a future as mage or warrior. But he is not my son. He’s the son of a princess of the Priteni, and his destiny is to lead our people as a true king should. He is our chosen candidate. What do you think it cost Anfreda to promise us a son of hers for this purpose even before she left Fortriu to make her life in a far land? Every step of Bridei’s path has been planned; every turn of his way must be controlled. If his future is not governed by our council of five, all will fall in ruins, and our sad homeland will never be reunited in the true practice of the ancient faith. I agree, this little girl seems harmless. But she is the one unpredictable element in this venture, the single, small factor that lies outside our power to control. You know the capricious nature of the Good Folk. We cannot well afford that such a one should insinuate herself into our plans, like a warped and twisted thread snaking across a great and perfect tapestry”

  “However,” said Fola flatly, “there is nowhere you can send her. Who would take her in? How could you banish her without betraying the trust of the Shining One? How could you cast her out without losing the love and respect of your foster son forever? No wonder you frown.”

  “I sense danger in the child. She’s a scrap of a thing, but there’s something there: a strength beyond the obvious. She fears and distrusts me, her manner makes that plain enough. It seems to me that, like a wild thing half tamed, she merely bides her time until she turns to bite the hand that feeds her. Such a creature could undermine our plans. If she exerts undue influence on Bridei, she has the capacity to divert him from his path.”

  “Maybe she’s bored,” Fola said.

  “Bored?” There was utter astonishment in the druid’s voice. “Impossible. Nobody has time for idleness here.”

  Fola looked at him. “My dear,” she said, “I feel a certain sympathy for Bridei, and even more for Tuala, for your talk of creatures and biting tells me you have no understanding at all of what it is to be a child. Were you never young? Have you forgotten how it feels to be left out, to be lonely, to be denied what others are given by right? Or did you spring to life fully grown and able to deal competently with whatever fate tossed your way?”

  Broichan did not reply.

  “I don’t like bargains and deals.” The wise woman drank the last of her mead. “Nonetheless, I believe I may be able to offer you one that will go a long way to solving your dilemma, and also to allaying my concerns about these children’s upbringing.”

  “Tell me.”

  Fola rose to her feet. “Not yet. I want to meet the lad first and see if my intuitions about him are correct. And I’ll wait until the solstice ritual is past. That may give us the gods’ answers. Then I’ll speak with you again.”

  “You plan to discuss this with our fellows in the meantime? To seek their learned opinions on the subject of my deficiencies as a foster parent?”

  Fola paused before she answered. “I’ve touched a raw nerve; forgive me, I never suspected you had such a thing, old friend. For now, let this be between us two. As for deficiencies, I’ll not judge on those until I speak with Bridei.”

  IT HAD BEEN a satisfying morning. He’d ridden to Eagle Scar with Donal and Talorgen and Aniel’s second guard, whose name was Garth, and they’d had a race on the way back in which Bridei and Blaze had acquitted themselves very respectably. Talorgen had won on his stocky, strong-legged mare. Then Erip and Wid had given a lesson on the use of kin signs, during which both the councillor Aniel and the wild druid Uist had come in and settled themselves to listen. Neither had been able to keep quiet; there had been theories and contradictions aplenty. It was one of the best lessons Bridei had ever had.

  After that he excused himself and went up to the oaks to sit alone awhile. It seemed the right thing to do, even if Tuala was away and would not return until after the solstice. If he sat quietly in her favorite spot, Bridei reasoned, she might feel his presence close to her although she was at Oak Ridge, so far down the Glen. The magic of place was like that. Bone Mother held all of the land together; her body was the land, supporting and linking the life that dwelt on it. If he sat here among th
e oak roots, just as if he were Tuala herself, and thought of the way the tree stretched down, down into the core of the earth, perhaps his thoughts could travel from one part of Bone Mother’s body to another, from Pitnochie to a small safe place in the forest where Tuala, too, sat thinking and dreaming. It’s all right, he told her. You’ll be coming home soon. With his eyes closed, he could see her small, anxious face, her big, strange eyes.

  “I seem to keep finding young persons under trees,” said a brisk voice. “What it means, I cannot say. Bridei, isn’t it? I arrived too late to greet you last night.”

  Bridei leaped to his feet, brushing the earth from his clothing, and extended a hand in polite greeting to the old woman who stood before him. “I’m sorry,” he said, “I didn’t see you coming. Yes, I’m Bridei.”

  “And I am Fola; I’ll save you the embarrassment of having to ask. I’m generally to be found at Banmerren, where I run an establishment in which young women learn the ways of the goddess in all her forms. I have a message for you.” She pulled out a length of much-worn ribbon, which had once been blue, and put it in his hand.

  “Oh.” He recognized it instantly; he’d refastened that plait more times than he could count. “You came here by Oak Ridge?”

  “My business took me to that part of the Glen, yes.”

  “Is Tuala all right?”

  “Of course. Why would she not be?”

  There were several possible answers to this: because she’s little, because she didn’t want to go away, because she’s afraid of Broichan. Because she can’t get to sleep without her story.

  “It is a long way,” Bridei said.

  Fola smiled. “You’ve been trained by a man with a great talent for not answering questions,” she commented. “Your sister seemed to be in good health. She was evidently missing you, although she did not say it in so many words. She will be happy to return to Pitnochie, I think.”

  Bridei nodded and slipped the ribbon in his pocket. “She’s not actually my sister,” he said.