The Dark Mirror

by Juliet Marillier

  “Drink this,” Kethra said, putting a cup of water in Tuala’s hands. “Girls, there is much to be learned from this. If nothing else, it shows you the dangers of experimenting on your own, unsupervised. Don’t do it. Such an experience taxes both body and mind. Until you have attained a certain level of control you must always have a watcher.” She turned her attention back to Tuala. “So,” she observed, “you were telling the truth. What did you see? Share it with us.”

  Protesting was pointless; a refusal would only draw more attention. Kethra was not going to leave off before she got an answer. “I think these were images of now, or of recent times,” Tuala said. “Of course, sometimes these visions are only of what may be, or what might have been. It’s not always possible to see what you think you need to see. Sometimes there are no answers. Other times the answers are there, but hidden. I saw glimpses of King Drust’s men on their campaign. You know they have traveled under the chieftain Talorgen’s command far down the Glen in the hope of reclaiming the territory of Galany’s Reach, where the Mage Stone stands.”

  Her audience was completely silent, waiting for more.

  “This seemed to show that they had won their battle. And . . . they were moving the stone. Lifting it from the earth with ropes and timbers, bringing it down to a barge, so it could be floated back up to our own lands.” She would not speak of the Shining One; she would not mention Bridei.

  Kethra wore a little frown. “Why would a child like you be sent such a vision?” she asked. “What could you know of such matters?”

  “Moving the Mage Stone?” queried Reia in amazement. “Isn’t it supposed to be taller than a giant and as thick as the neck of a bull? How could they move it?”

  Tuala saw again Bridei’s young features, full of purpose; his bright eyes in which awareness of the gods was never far below the surface. With the right leader, men can achieve the impossible. “They did it with druid magic, and with cleverness,” she said.

  “Hmm,” said Kethra. “It is a strange tale, indeed. An unlikely one; why would they do this, when the stones are set in place as symbols of the ancient descent of our people from the seven sons of Pridne? They are markers of both territory and blood; to move them seems almost an insult to the gods, an act of ill omen. Who would choose to do this at a time of victory in battle?”

  “I can understand the reasons,” Tuala said. “It does seem a strange act; an act that might cause an imbalance in the fabric of our land. But that place, Galany’s Reach, is within the boundaries of Dalriada now It was lost to Fortriu years ago. Talorgen’s forces could take the settlement, but not hold it; it is too isolated from our own strongholds. This campaign was never intended for the purpose of seizing back the territory of Galany’s Reach. It was a symbolic strike; a warning of more to come, should Dalriada seek to expand its grasp further into the Glen. The bringing back of the stone is an act of courage, of bold inventiveness. Difficult; back-breaking; inspirational. It must have put great heart into our men and further unsettled the enemy. At least,” realizing she had said a great deal more than she intended, “that is how I see it.”

  “How do you know all this, anyway?” challenged one of the girls. “Battles and territories and everything?”

  “She’s making it up,” someone muttered behind a hand.

  “I’ve had excellent teachers,” Tuala said. “I was lucky”

  “Luck is part of it,” said Kethra crisply “Making astute use of your own good fortune is also an advantage. Then there’s natural talent. Girls, I hear the bell. There will be food and drink for you in the dining hall. Don’t run, Odha, you’re not starving.”

  The room emptied; only Kethra was left, and Tuala sitting on the bench, knowing this was not finished yet.

  “I’m sorry” Tuala said, and meant it. “I did try not to look, but it happens like that sometimes. The visions are there, waiting for me.”

  Kethra sucked in her breath and let it out again. “You have learned this skill before you came to Banmerren, obviously. Who taught you? Broichan?”

  Tuala would have laughed if she were not so nervous. “I was taught many things by my two old tutors, but never this; never the arts of druid or wise woman. And Broichan didn’t teach me anything at all.” Except how to be afraid. “He didn’t think I needed any education.”

  “It would seem,” Kethra observed as she tilted the basin, emptying its contents back into the jug, “that in respect of scrying, he was absolutely right. You are telling me this is self-taught? That you can summon these visions without technique, purely through an effort of will?”

  “Oh, no,” Tuala said, shocked. “Such images are sent by the gods; they cannot be called up by man or woman alone. It is possible, sometimes, to bend or shape them with the mind. To shut out some parts and strengthen others.” That was what she had done when the Good Folk had sought to fill her mirror with images she did not want. Then, she had called on the Shining One and the goddess had shown herself in the clear water. “I think that if the seer has a particular need to know something, perhaps to interpret an augury for the future, the gods shape the visions in a way that will help. At least, that has been my experience.”

  “I see.” Kethra looked stunned, baffled. Her deft hands wiped out the basin with a cloth, covered the ewer, clasped themselves before her as she came to stand by Tuala. Tuala got to her feet respectfully.

  “Tuala,” said Kethra.

  “Yes?”

  “I think it best if today’s lesson is not discussed openly among the girls. If they question you about what happened, give them a brief, truthful answer and leave it at that. Don’t allow yourself to be drawn into discussions of technique, nor tempted to demonstrate. These are beginners, and vulnerable. Do you understand?”

  “Of course. They won’t ask me, anyway. They don’t talk to me.”

  There was a brief silence.

  “Did we make an error, housing you on your own?” Kethra asked.

  “Oh, no!” Tuala was filled with horror at the prospect of being moved into those communal chambers, to be surrounded by whispering girls at all hours of day and night. The tower was hers, her place, safe, silent; the oak was her refuge, her piece of Pitnochie here in an alien realm. Whoever had made the decision to put her in the tower had shown wisdom and kindness. “I am happy where I am. It suits me very well.”

  “Perhaps,” Kethra said. “You may go now Tomorrow, instead of attending this class, you will go to see Fola. She wanted a progress report, and it’s time. I will tell her to expect you. Now hurry up or you’ll miss the food.”

  Tuala was almost out the door when Kethra spoke again, behind her.

  “Do you think it’s true? Have they really brought the Mage Stone up the lake?”

  “I suppose we will find out when Talorgen’s men come home,” said Tuala, seeing Bridei’s face in her mind and knowing in her heart that every scrap of her vision was a true and exact record of the way things had happened. Another image crept across that bright memory: a man clutching at his throat and dying in agony. In today’s image, Bridei had not yet worn his battle marks. Still, Broichan had promised action: there would be a taster now, and extra guards. All the same, she longed to know Bridei was back at Pitnochie and safe again.

  “I suppose we will,” said Kethra. “If true, this could be a powerful portent of good times to come for the Priteni. Most powerful.” Her tone changed. “Off you go, then,” she said. “I’ve things to do if you haven’t.”

  NEXT MORNING AS the others made their way to class, Tuala waited at the entry to Fola’s private chamber. Shade, too, was outside the door; she had seen him earlier in the garden, stalking birds. He sat now, ears pricked, tail twitching irritably, impatient for admission. The cat had his routines like the rest of them at Banmerren and did not appreciate their disruption. But Fola’s door was closed; from within, her voice could be heard, measured and calm. Tuala bent to stroke Shade’s coat; layers of ancient scars had left it rough and threadbare. Eyeing
her with an old cat’s skeptical gaze, he purred despite himself.

  The door opened abruptly and the girl who emerged had to put out both arms to avoid falling over the two of them and sprawling flat on the rush-strewn floor.

  “Oh—I’m sorry—here—” Tuala reached out a hand to steady her.

  The girl flinched away, eyes wide and blank. Tuala vaguely remembered her from the very first days at Banmerren; a thin, solemn-faced thing, very quiet. What was her name: Morna? Morva? She had not been in any of the classes recently; now that Tuala thought about it, she hadn’t seen the girl walking on the grass with the others or seated at table for a long time. Perhaps she had been ill. Her eyes were very strange. Now she turned and vanished like a shadow, not out to the communal area but back toward the place where the senior women had their sleeping quarters. It was only after she was gone that Tuala realized Morna had not been wearing the blue robe of the junior girls, but garments of pure white.

  “Come in, Tuala.” Fola’s tone gave no suggestion of her mood. Shade had already made his way in and was up on the bench beside the wise woman, circling on a cushion. Tuala wondered if the cat ever had the temerity to sit on his mistress’s knee. Maybe that would be too undignified for both of them.

  “Kethra has spoken to me of what occurred yesterday,” Fola went on, “and of your own request not to practice scrying with the other juniors. You surprised her.”

  “I’m sorry—I did try to tell her—”

  “I was, perhaps, unfair, both to you and to Kethra. This comes as no surprise to me; my intuition seldom fails me, and I detected something in you when we first met, something that would in time come to fruition and be both powerful and perilous. I have waited a long time for you to join us at Banmerren; waited while your tutors at Pitnochie provided a grounding far beyond what can be offered in this house of women. I could have warned Kethra and the others what to expect. It seemed to me better to let matters run their course for a while; to see what you made of Banmerren and what Banmerren made of you.”

  Tuala said nothing. This felt uncomfortably close to Broichan’s games of strategy, games with human pieces. She remembered that Fola and the king’s druid were old friends.

  “Do you think your vision was an image of the present time? A reflection of truth?” There was an eagerness in the wise woman’s tone now, the same Tuala had heard in Kethra’s, asking this. Neither had missed the true import of Tuala’s vision.

  “I know it was,” Tuala told her.

  “You know?” asked Fola sharply. “That is arrogance, child; we cannot know the gods’ intentions until these portents become reality.”

  “I do know. I know because Bridei was in it, and I always see true for him. Except when it is the future, which can be changed.” She shivered; but for Broichan’s swift action in sending that warning message down the Glen, the future might have been bleak indeed.

  Fola’s eyes had narrowed. “Bridei. You did not mention Bridei to Kethra, not by the account she gave me. What was his part in this?”

  Tuala bit her lip, suddenly reluctant to tell more, even to someone who had always seemed a friend.

  “I mean no harm to him, Tuala,” Fola said. “Quite the opposite. Like Broichan, I am committed to Bridei’s future. You can trust me; this is the truth.”

  “He was leading the endeavor when they brought the Mage Stone down to King Lake,” Tuala said. “It was his idea, his vision, his undertaking. They all followed him, warrior and chieftain alike. He awoke the light of inspiration in their eyes, the touch of the Flamekeeper. I think men will long remember this.”

  Fola nodded. “Broichan will rejoice to hear it,” she said. “And so will the king. These are indeed interesting times. Momentous times.”

  “Fola?”

  “Yes, child?”

  “I have tried to work hard since I came here. I’ve tried to do as I promised. I’m sorry I made Kethra angry.”

  Fola regarded her in silence for a moment. “Kethra’s not angry,” she said. “Perhaps a little annoyed with herself for not seeing this earlier, but not in any way aggrieved with you. Like me, she appreciates talented students; we get them seldom enough. I asked all your tutors for a progress report. Kethra has recommended you have private tuition in most of the branches of the craft that she teaches, either with her or with me. Derila tells me your background in history, geography, and politics is exceptional; she would prefer to keep you in her class, as I gather some of the noble daughters are quite apt and that all of you can benefit from robust debate.”

  Tuala nodded.

  “Derila’s enjoying herself,” Fola said, smiling. “The best crop of students she’s ever had, she tells me. Have you made any friends, Tuala?”

  “Friends.” Tuala could hardly think what that might mean, here among these girls who seemed so different they might be from another world. “Not really. Fox—Ferada sits by me; Ana has been kind to me. They are the daughters of chieftains; I am—what I am. I don’t think we could ever be friends. The others—well, they look at me and whisper and laugh behind their hands. It doesn’t matter. It was already like that at Pitnochie before I came away”

  Something in her voice or her face made Fola lean forward, scrutinizing her closely. “What do you mean, Tuala?”

  Tuala’s voice came out unevenly, despite her efforts at control. “I became unwelcome. Broichan never wanted me there. But the rest of them did. Until I started to grow up. Then they were afraid of me. It was stupid, but I couldn’t change it. That was when Broichan said I had to go.”

  “What about your friend? Bridei? Is he afraid of you, now that you are a woman?”

  Tuala stared at her, outrage robbing her of speech.

  “It’s a reasonable question,” Fola said calmly. “A very apt one, indeed, since the young man is of exactly the age to be most vulnerable in such a respect, one might think.”

  “He’s been away,” Tuala said, blinking back sudden tears. “And of course he isn’t afraid of me. Of course he isn’t. It’s not like that between us . . .”

  “Not like what?”

  Tuala pressed her lips tightly together. This was unfair; cruel. Nobody understood the way it was; nobody but herself and Bridei. Nobody but the Shining One, who had brought them together at Midwinter, long ago.

  “Let us leave that for now, since it distresses you,” Fola said. “Perhaps you came here just in time. As for the other matter, we’ll alter your day’s work to fit in private tuition with me in the mornings, in place of Kethra’s lessons. You’ll continue in Derila’s classes. I sense you do gain something from those, as a natural scholar. The noble daughters will be returning to court once Talorgen comes to Caer Pridne; if your visions are as accurate as you believe, that may be quite soon. After that, Derila may make use of you to help teach some of the other girls, if you agree to it.”

  Tuala stared at her. “I don’t think they would welcome me as a tutor—it would make them resent me still more—”

  Fola’s brows rose. “If it is in the service of the Shining One you would do it regardless, would you not?” she asked.

  “Yes, Fola.” There is learning in everything, Broichan always said. Even in being set somehow above those who see you as an inferior form of life, forever different, forever beyond acceptance.

  “Also,” Fola said, “I want you to talk to Ferada and Ana about alliances through marriage, about what awaits them as chieftains’ daughters and what rules govern the choices that are made for them.”

  “But—”

  Fola silenced her with a look. “I know you know all about it already. In theory. The royal descent, the importance of cross-links between the seven houses and so on. That, believe me, is far removed from a discussion with girls of your own age, whose personal futures are entirely governed by such rules.”

  “If you wish. But I don’t understand why.”

  The wise woman regarded Tuala closely for a little. “It is reasonable, I suppose, that you seek an explanation,”
she said. “I would be somewhat reassured if I thought you accepted that Banmerren is good for you; that we can indeed teach you something of worth.”

  “I didn’t mean—”

  Fola raised a hand. “Nor did you say so; but you give me sufficient clues to your state of mind, Tuala. I think there is another future you envisage for yourself that is not as priestess of the Shining One, nor as scholar and teacher, admirably suited as you appear to be for either of those roles. You speak often of Pitnochie, with a tone of voice and a form of words that go beyond the natural homesickness that affects all of my new students. You do not speak a great deal of Bridei. But when you do, it is clear to me that he is much in your thoughts.”

  Tuala said nothing. She did not know where Fola was heading with this, nor how it related to what she had asked before.

  “It’s very important that you realize what an opportunity you have been offered here, Tuala,” Fola went on gravely. “Talk to Ana and Ferada. Consider your other options, which are perhaps fewer than you realize. Think about the life we lead here and what it means for us. We may dwell within high walls, but the protection they offer provides us with a particular kind of freedom; a freedom of the mind and spirit that is precious indeed. I do not doubt your love of the Shining One, my dear. I just want you to get things in perspective.”

  “Yes, Fola. I will speak with the noble daughters.”

  “Good. You may go now. Kethra tells me you like the tower. You do not think you should be housed with the others? That perhaps you might be more readily accepted by them if that were so?”

  “Maybe I would. But I do not think I could endure it long. I like to see the sky. I am accustomed to silence; to being alone.”

  Fola nodded. “And you like trees,” she said. “I do seem to remember finding children under trees, long ago. Very well, off you go now. I look forward to working with you; I expect we’ll both learn something.”

  WHAT MAY HAVE seemed a simple matter to the wise woman did in fact require a certain courage. Being on the outside, excluded, could be seen as carrying its own strange sort of pride. Approaching the noble daughters outside the accepted conduct of a history class was to seek admission to a circle where she did not belong. It was inviting humiliation.