Daughter of the Forest

by Juliet Marillier

  Their voices swam in and out of my consciousness, Conor saying I could not be moved tonight, Diarmid furious, Liam trying to make plans. Flashes of pain, memories of other voices. I put my hand up to cover my eyes, its roughness brushing my skin. Maybe her mother was a toad. There were other images there too. My broken garden. Father Brien lying on the ground, an empty shell of himself. Simon screaming in the dark. Oonagh combing, combing my hair, and the creatures twisting on her mirror. Pain and fear. Their voices, again and again. Prize piece of meat, eh? Just how I like it, young and juicy. How could my brothers talk on, planning, arguing now, as if I weren’t there?

  “This is impossible! It’s out of the question!” Diarmid was yelling. “We can’t just leave her here! There must be some other way!”

  “There is no other way,” said Conor quietly. His face was turned away from me.

  “Then, by the Lady, let us end this enchantment once and for all,” said Cormack, and there was a reckless note in his voice. He got to his feet and faced his twin across the fire. “We cannot abandon her, not now. I say we use what time we have left to take her to the nearest farm, tell our story, throw ourselves on these people’s mercy. At least then Sorcha has some chance. Left alone here, she will not last the season out.”

  “These people showed little mercy when they raped our sister,” said Diarmid savagely.

  “Anyway, we cannot do that and return here by daybreak,” said Padriac. There was an unspoken question in his voice.

  “Padriac’s right, we cannot do it,” said Liam. “Tell your story to these cottagers, and the lady Oonagh learns of Sorcha’s whereabouts tomorrow or the next day. Be away from the water at dawn, and you may end up on somebody’s dinner table tomorrow. You are not fools, I hope.”

  “What are you saying?” Diarmid had pulled his dagger up from the earth and was tossing it restlessly from hand to hand.

  “I’m saying this plan is impossible. I see no choice but to make Sorcha as safe and comfortable as we can; and leave her. Perhaps next time we can move her; there must be other caves down shore.” Liam did not sound altogether happy with his own suggestion.

  “What do you say, druid?” Diarmid’s tone stung like a whip. “No wise pronouncements, no rhetoric to inspire us? What price your mystical craft now? Perhaps it is time we stopped heeding your advice and took matters into our own hands.” He was like a hunting dog straining at the leash.

  “That’s not fair,” said Cormack, springing to his twin’s defense despite his own doubts.

  “Nor is it quite accurate.” Liam spoke firmly. “You cannot have forgotten how we were able to track down our quarry tonight with such speed. Seldom have I seen a mist come down so quickly or so selectively. Or dissipate in a flash as it did when we were done. Nor have I ever before witnessed ferns and mosses creep and spread in moments to cover men’s bones and flesh so. There was a magical craft at work there; you can thank your brother for that.”

  “Bollocks,” growled Diarmid, but he sat down again, the knife still in his hands. Their words faded out of my consciousness and the evil images returned. I tried again to block them out, but they would not go. I wanted to scream, to shout out, to let go the anger and hurt in my head; but somehow still I clenched my teeth and swallowed the sounds that threatened to break forth, and my tears flowed silently. My brothers meant well. But I almost wished it were dawn, and they were gone again. The voices went on arguing, and after a while Padriac brought me more to drink and I took it, and he went away again. The images passed and passed in my mind. The brand of hot iron on human flesh. Eilis racked with convulsions, her pretty face distorted with retching. The dog with her trusting eyes and the knife wound deep across her face. The wide smile of the simpleton as he gazed up into the trees. Don’t hurt faery girl! Your turn next, farm boy. Under the thick cloak, I was shivering.

  I’m here, Sorcha.

  I would not believe it at first; it had been so long since he had touched my mind in this way.

  I’m here. Try to let go, dear one. I know how it hurts. Lean on me; let me take your burden for a while.

  I could scarcely see him; he was on the far side of the fire, behind the others and half turned away, with his head still in his hands. It seemed as if he had scarcely moved at all.

  How can you? How can you know?

  I know. Let me help you.

  I felt the strength of his mind flow into mine, and somehow he managed to close off the terrible, the dark and secret things that he had dreaded sharing with me, and fill my head with pictures of all that was good and brave. Myself, a small child dancing joyfully along a forest path, sheltered by the arching branches, lit by dappled sun. This was an old image, stored deep in his consciousness and influencing all that he did. Then, the two of us, lying on the rocks by the spring pools, facedown, chins on hands, still as small basking lizards, watching the tiny jewellike frogs as they hopped and dived and sprang among the fronds of watercress. Finbar, patiently extracting the barbs of starwort from my hands as Conor told the story of Deirdre, Lady of the Forest. The seven of us in our circle around the little birch tree, our hands linked.

  He gave me no time to think, but flooded my mind, blotting out, for now at least, my wretchedness and fear. It was as if his mind had slipped itself around mine to shelter it from harm. So there was more: he and I again, sitting on the roof slates at home, looking out far, far over forest and lake. A little image of Father Brien, tip of tongue between his lips, as with deft brush strokes he worked on an intricate page of manuscript. Conor in his white robe, reading notches on the trunk of a great rowan. Diarmid and Liam wrestling in the shallows, strength against strength, until one gave way and the contest ended in splashing and hilarity. Padriac splinting an owl’s wing, clever hands moving without haste, not to frighten. Cormack and Linn running along the shore, and the west wind whipping up the water to cover their footsteps in the sand.

  My tears began to flow again at that, but the hurt was different now.

  Weep, dear one. Our love wraps you like a blanket. Our strength is yours, and yours keeps our hope alive.

  The forest holds you in its hand. This was another voice, Conor’s. The pathway opens before you. The rest of them had fallen silent, sensing maybe that dawn was coming, and something was happening that was more vital than any plans they might make.

  What—what do you see for me? It took a great effort of will to ask. What will happen to me, Finbar? This time, show me.

  There was an image, broken up, hard to discern. A girl, myself I supposed, drifting in a little boat. An owl hooting. Or was that here and now, not part of the mind picture? A pair of hands, holding a little knife, carving a tiny block of wood. A fire burning green and purple and orange. The picture faded and was gone. Whether that was all Finbar saw, or whether he closed off the remainder, I did not know. And through all that time, he never spoke one word aloud, but sat there with head in hands, as if in a trance.

  Soon enough the first trace of dawn gray touched the sky, and it was almost time for them to go. My breathing was quiet, my body more rested although there was still a deep aching there. My head was filled with brightness, scraps of hero tales, pictures of our childhood, a bastion of loving memories to keep out the shadows. Finbar let no evil thought or ugly image touch me. I lay still in my blanket, and now the lightening sky seemed gentle, and the canopy of trees benign. I heard an owl’s voice calling again through the still dawn, and it touched my spirit deep within. My brothers sat silent and grim faced around the last embers of the fire.

  “Sorcha.” Conor spoke aloud this time, so they could all hear. “There is one choice none of us has spoken of. I want to put it to you.” I found I was able to sit up and nod my understanding. The grip on my mind relaxed just a little; but still Finbar held me safe. I glanced at him across the circle. My brother’s face shocked me; he was parchment white, and there were deep purple shadows beneath his eyes. He looked like an old man, or one who has spent a night with the Fair Folk and
will never quite be himself again.

  It’s all right, Sorcha. Listen to Conor. Finbar did not move a muscle.

  “We’ve all thought of it, I have no doubt; but none of us was prepared to say it, though Cormack came close, I think. I want you to decide, Sorcha. You must take your time, and make the choice for yourself, not for us.”

  Liam took over. “Don’t talk in riddles, Conor. This must be said in plain words. Sorcha, what he’s trying to say is that maybe this is the point where the task should be abandoned. To me at least, the cost now seems too great. Each of us would gladly give up his chance of the future in return for your safety.”

  “We would give our lives for you. What is hardest to bear is the guilt; for you risk yourself daily in struggling to complete this task for us.” Cormack’s voice was chillingly matter-of-fact.

  “We can’t protect you,” said Diarmid bluntly. “We’re worse than useless, we’re just a burden to you.” I saw then that he held the small bundle of starwort shirts in his hands, heedless of the barbs, and they were close, so close to the burning coals. “I say, destroy these magical garments, leave off the task that consumes you, seek shelter with the holy brothers who can protect you from the sorceress. And if we are lost to the human world, what then? It matters little.”

  This speech must have cost him dear, for I knew the desire for vengeance burned deep in his heart. I knew how Liam longed to return home and set things right with his father and his lands, before it was too late to salvage anything. And Conor; what of his pathway, his years of preparation, what of the villagers that spoke of him with awe as one of the wise ones? Who would take his place if he never returned to the mortal world?

  “We should have made a boat, or raft,” said Padriac suddenly. “There are few settlements here; you could move a long way down the lake, going softly by dusk or dawn, under the trees close by the bank. I should have thought of it.” The others looked at him. “Well, it was an idea,” he said.

  “Haven’t you been listening at all?” snapped Liam, frowning.

  Padriac was stirring his pot over the fire again, brewing enough of the herbal tea to last me a day or two.

  “Oh, yes,” he said tranquilly. “Sorcha will choose for all of us. What more is there to add?”

  I felt Finbar’s grip on my mind relax and slowly withdraw, leaving me clean and empty. Conor’s presence, too, retreated as subtly as it had slipped into my head. They wanted me to make this decision alone. But there was no choice, not for me. I reached out for the bundle of weaving, and Diarmid passed it to me.

  “Are you sure, Sorcha?” asked Liam quietly. I nodded. Unlike Finbar, I still knew which path I had to take. It seemed that, whatever happened to me, this much would not change.

  “Very well,” said Liam. “We honor your decision. We will survive, and return again at midwinter.”

  “We will not return here,” said Finbar in the faintest of voices, and as we all turned to look at him, he swayed and fell to the ground as if lifeless. Conor reached him first and knelt by him, shielding his face from the others.

  “Get him up,” said Diarmid harshly. “It is nearly dawn.”

  “What’s wrong with him, anyway?” Cormack was only marginally more sympathetic. “Haven’t heard a word out of him all night.”

  “Tasted his first blood,” said Diarmid. “Takes them like that sometimes. Hasn’t the stomach for it. Yet he was keen enough at the kill. I’ve never seen a man hack so deep, nor twist the knife with such relish. Look at his hands.”

  Tactfully, Padriac drew me aside to speak of poultices and fomentations, and how he’d had to put in a stitch that I would have to remove myself, which would be tricky but not impossible. I half listened. He had no need to explain my own craft to me. Liam was slapping Finbar’s linen-white cheek; Conor was holding fingers to his neck, feeling the throb of his lifeblood beneath the blanched skin, talking in an undertone.

  “Hurry up,” said Diarmid. “By the Lady, what a time to throw a fit of the vapors. The sun already touches the treetops beyond the lake. Slap his face hard, bring him to his senses quickly. He’s becoming a hindrance to us.”

  “Hold your tongue!” said Liam, in a voice just like his father’s. It was the voice that made grown men suddenly silent.

  “You misjudge Finbar,” Conor said, as he and Liam hauled their brother to his feet and began a slow progress toward the lake. For Diarmid was right; it was almost time. Half-conscious, Finbar sagged between them, moving his feet like leaden weights. “He has given more of himself this night than you could ever imagine. Do not judge too quickly that which you cannot understand.”

  “I understand well enough,” growled Diarmid, but he made no further attempt to interfere. And so they reached the shore again, and again bade me farewell. And this time, standing swaying in my big cloak, I did not want any of them to touch me, and they knew it without any word said. So they slipped away, one by one, and I understood in my heart that it would be a long time, longer far than the span of summer to winter, before I would see them again. My love for them had not lessened, but I did not think I could ever again hold them or hug them, although they were my brothers. I could no longer really trust them, because they had not been there when I needed them. That this was none of their doing made no difference. Such was the power of the evil thing done to me. So, as I watched them walk to the water’s edge, with Finbar still slumped between his two brothers, and the light from the first sun touching his pale features with gold, I did not call to him with my inner voice. I did not say thank you or good-bye, dear heart. I turned my back and made my solitary way up under the ash trees, and my mind and my tongue were as silent as death. There was no farewell for my brothers as the waters rose up to take them once more.

  Cormack had predicted I would not last long alone in the forest with my injuries. He had not considered the strength of my will, or my skill as a healer. He did not foresee the intervention of the forest itself, through its most secret inhabitants. Time passed, and the moon waxed and waned, and the warm days of summer turned slowly to the crisp, cool ones of early autumn. It was quiet, so quiet that even the sudden screeching of a bird made me jump. Too quiet. The pile of smooth river stones that marked Linn’s final resting place spoke to me daily of the void her passing had left in my little world. My day had been ordered by her patterns as much as my own, my labors at loom or spindle timed for her trips to forage in the woods for rabbits or up the lakeshore for fish, my meal taken companionably on her return, and our slumber warmed by the same blanket. Once, earlier, I had found her footmarks still printed neatly in the sand where she had run with the breath of the wind in her stride, and I wept and knew how much I had lost.

  My body mended, thanks to Padriac’s ministrations and my own knowledge. After a time, I knew I was not with child, and gave wordless thanks for it. But I was still scared, and sometimes even my small daily routine was too much of a burden. The haven which had become my home was a refuge no longer, changed forever by the evil that had happened there. I fancied my herbs dying slowly by degrees, or bringing forth gross, misshapen flowers and shrunken berries. I would not venture out to harvest a new supply of the plant I needed, not even with a sharp knife in my belt.

  The slightest sound set my heart thumping. I had dreams, and those I will not recount. I tried to fight them. I did my best to sleep by day, and stay awake during the dark time. But my candles were almost gone, and the dreams came even by sunlight. I resorted to the use of herbs, and for a time they gave a brief respite. But the dosage I needed grew stronger and stronger. After a while I made the decision to stop, knowing the grip such potions can exert over the weak. The demons returned.

  I thought of Simon a lot. I thought of his injuries, and how I had made him promise to survive. I decided I was weak and must reapply myself to my task. But there were days when I simply did not have the will for it, and the thread of starwort remained unwoven while I sat with my back to the ash log and stared at nothing. I felt as if I
were waiting, but for what I did not know.

  I had not gathered much food, being afraid to go far from home. I had neither the will nor the energy to prepare berries for drying, and my small herb patch grew rank with weeds. There was a little sack of dried peas which I had found some time ago beside the cart track, fallen from a farmer’s load. I had been saving these, and now I would boil up a handful in the mornings to make a sort of broth, when I could summon up the strength. Some days, even combing my hair was too much effort. I grew thinner and found myself falling asleep unexpectedly, only to be awoken by evil dreams. As the days grew shorter, my work made little progress. Then, finally, she came. Silent as a deer, she was suddenly there in the shadows among the gray trunks of the ash trees, her deep eyes watching me with an expression I could not read. Today she wore no midnight blue cloak, nor were there jewels in her long dark hair. Instead her garment was plainly cut, flowing to her ankles, its fabric a mossy green; and her arms glimmered palely in the filtered light of the trees. The leaves and twigs stirred around her, and I felt the deep throbbing heartbeat of the forest, as if it came alive as she passed. Last time I had vented my anger and fear on her. Now I only felt a hollow emptiness.

  You’re too late.

  Her face was impassive. If there were any expression, it was slight disapproval.

  “It’s time, Sorcha,” she said. “Time to move on.”

  Move where? I thought dimly. It all seemed too hard, too much effort. Perhaps I would just crawl in under the rock face again and close my eyes.

  I’m tired of being strong.

  She laughed at me. Laughed, as if I were ridiculous.

  “You are what you are,” she said in her low, musical voice. “Now come on, get up. You are not the first woman of your race to be abused thus by men, nor will you be the last. We saw with sorrow what was done to you; but vengeance was swift and just. Now you must go from here.”

  There was a very small core of anger inside me, struggling to get out through the profound weariness that made my head fuzzy and all my limbs heavy and aching. I got up, and the trees seemed to shiver and move around me.