Daughter of the Forest

by Juliet Marillier

  I stared at him. How could he make such a speech in everyday tones, as if he were telling me how to build a haystack, or describing the best way to dig up a row of turnips? But there was something in his eyes, something hidden so deep that it would be easy to miss it, an intensity that told me he meant every word. I felt a shiver run down my spine. Something had changed; but I couldn’t tell what. It was as if the world tilted, and nothing was quite as it had been. Or as if there were the very smallest turning in the pathway, just a tiny deviation, but to take it meant you would end up somewhere quite different. And it was already too late to go back.

  My response came without thinking. I made a gesture that said, I know. I believe you. And when he held out his hand to help me up the bank, I took it without flinching, as I had done once before in a torrential downpour, when that hand had been my only grip on reality in a flight from death. I trusted him. He was a Briton, and I trusted him. Perhaps he really would keep me safe until I finished the shirts, and then—but that was the point at which my mind reached a blank wall. Red might be all kindness now, with his promises and his protection. But he was still waiting. Waiting for me to tell him Simon’s story. Waiting for me to tell him how his brother was burned and violated, and driven half crazy by my own people. How I had left Simon alone in the forest, alone with his demons, how I let him go out into the dark and perish from cold and hunger and terror under the great oaks. What price Lord Hugh’s kindness, when he had heard this tale? How easy would it be to keep his promise, knowing what we had done to his young brother? I had seen the strength in that implacable mouth, the hardness in that uncompromising jaw. I had seen how cold those eyes could be. And just once, I had heard the passion in his voice, as the Fair Folk teased him with their talk of Simon. He would set little store by my safety, and that of my kin, when he learned the truth.

  So we made our way home, slowly, because I found I was suddenly terribly tired, so tired my feet would scarcely take me in a straight path.

  “I could carry you,” offered Red. “It worked quite well last time.” But I shook my head at that. Trust went just so far. He was a man, after all. “Oh, well,” he said as I walked grimly on, “I expect you’re too heavy now, anyway. Amazing what a bit of good food can do.” When I glanced at him I surprised the fleeting hint of a smile on his face, just for a moment.

  I almost made it all the way to the house. There were people about, despite the cold; a gardener, well wrapped in woollen hat and mittens, trimming a hedge; a boy with a long stick of ash wood, herding a difficult flock of geese. We went in quietly, avoiding the main door, and managed to escape attention. Just by the outer entrance to my garden, my legs gave way from sheer exhaustion and to my extreme annoyance he did have to carry me those last few yards. When he opened the door to my chamber and took me inside, Alys sprang forward, growling and barking in a protective frenzy. Red deposited me quickly on the bed and retreated to the doorway. The small terrier stood her ground between us, her legs planted square, growling with all the menace she could muster.

  “All right, all right,” Red said mildly, brows raised. “I know where I’m not wanted. I’ll send you some help, Jenny. Make sure you sleep. It was a long night.” I looked up at him, thinking he too looked weary. It was easy to believe him tireless, since he seemed to rest little and be none the worse for wear. But that morning there was a pallor about him, a shadow behind the eyes that I had not noticed out there in the sun. I pointed to him, put my hands together, laid my head on them and closed my eyes briefly. You—too—sleep.

  “There’s the work of the day to be done,” he said, and he seemed taken aback at my suggestion. “And I have a word or two to say to my mother. But—” and here he was overtaken by a huge yawn, “perhaps you’re right. In any event, rest well, Jenny.” He slipped away out the door, and Alys gave a sharp yap or two to see him off.

  Shortly after, Megan came with warm water and a clean nightrobe. While I washed and changed, she fetched mulled wine and fine wheaten bread with currants in it. She stood over me until I finished the food and drink, and she took Alys out into the garden and brought her back. She told me Mistress and little Johnny were both just fine, and I had done so well to save their lives, and she didn’t know where I had learned such things. Then she tucked me in and left me and I slept till evening, and if I had any dreams, I had forgotten them before I woke.

  By the festival of Imbolc, which the Christians call Candlemas, I had finished the fourth shirt. I kept them now in the wooden chest in my room, with dried herbs layered between. Liam, Diarmid, Cormack, Conor. Now there was no starwort left. The sharp-eyed lady Anne had observed I no longer had my own work to do, and she found me a tedious piece of plain sewing to keep me occupied. I worked slowly, for my hands no longer had the fine control such tasks required, if indeed they ever possessed such skill. Putting stitches in human flesh, or easing a child into the world was one thing. Plying a needle so small you could hardly see it, making the tiniest even stitches was a quite different matter. Lady Anne watched, brows raised, as my frustration increased. When we were finished for the day, she drew me aside. I felt that, since the birth of Margery’s child, she had cooled toward me still further. This was odd. Something was bothering her, I could see it from the way she watched me under her lids. And yet, I had done nothing to offend her. I almost thought she seemed in some way afraid of me. I could not think why.

  “You’re finding this hemming difficult,” she observed, picking up my work and dropping it again with a sigh. “Yet this is a task I would entrust to an eight-year-old. Your education in matters domestic has clearly been quite limited. It seems you lack the skill for even such basic work. And yet, if you are to remain under our roof for so long, you must make yourself useful, Jenny. Perhaps I can find something rather simpler for you.”

  It was an opportunity, of sorts. There was still one stem of starwort left in my basket, saved for such a purpose. I swallowed my annoyance and showed her what I wanted. No, not your work. This. I must do this work. But I need more of the plant. I—go out—gather this plant. Cut—gather.

  Lady Anne’s lips tightened. “I can’t help you. There’s no place for such—such deviance in my household. I have tolerated your self-imposed madness because I was given no choice. But I will not assist you to keep on with it. Enough is enough. If you wish for acceptance here, you must strive to be more like us, Jenny. If indeed you are capable of it.”

  It did not seem to matter at all, that I had saved Margery’s life, and the baby’s. I turned to go. I had enough pride left not to beg. Besides, I could see it would be useless.

  “And don’t go running to Lord Hugh with your problems,” she said to my back, with an edge to her voice that suggested some other message, not put into words. “He has more than enough to do, without bothering with such as you. Keeping you here is a burden to him.”

  Nonetheless, there was nobody else to turn to. Red was busy, I could see that. There was plowing to do, and preparation for seeding, and in addition, there were disputes to settle, the sorts of quarrels that arise when folk are cooped up too close in winter, and start to dwell on the small injustices of their lives. There was a system for dealing with this. Regularly, about ten days after full moon, a hearing would be held which they called the folkmoot. The aggrieved parties would come to the great hall of Harrowfield, and set out their arguments before Lord Hugh, and he would arbitrate between them.

  The folkmoot was well attended by Lord Hugh’s tenants, for it promised good entertainment as well as justice. There was the time one cottager’s pigs had strayed onto a plot of grass reserved by his neighbor for a future planting of pumpkin and squash. Made a right mess of it, they had, and if Ned Thatcher couldn’t keep his pigs in, then they should be taken off him and turned into sausages, and he, One-Eyed Bill, would be the first to do it, the moment Ned let them get out again. Had a nice sharp knife ready, he did. Ned chipped in at this point to express a heartfelt wish that Bill would go back to Elvingt
on where he came from, and take his lovely wife and his six children with him. If he didn’t know pigs was pigs and had a mind of their own, he didn’t know much. Besides, all his porkers had eaten was a few wild oats and an old lump of dried-up porridge Bill’s wife had tipped over the wall, slattern that she was.

  Red was diplomacy itself. He calmed the two parties with a few well-chosen words about their undoubted talents and expertise in their own fields. He pointed out the advantages of a block of land turned over and fertilized in advance, so all you had to do, when the time was right, was pop in your seeds and wait. He then explained that in return for the use of the land for his pigs until planting time, Ned might expect a few fat pumpkins, a basket or two of turnips and squash later in the season. His wife could make an excellent soup from that, flavored with a ham bone. Of course, the pigs must be off the property by the first warm day of spring. He would send out help to build a stronger wall. All parties retired satisfied.

  There were more serious disputes. A fight over a woman, in which one man had received a serious head wound and another a broken arm. A wild brawl after the rapid consumption of a barrel of ale, which left two families shouting abuse whenever they passed. I noted Red’s fairness and also his authority. He could be hard enough, when it was warranted. But not once did I see his decisions challenged. I thought, these people are lucky. This was what my brother Finbar wanted, this was what we needed at Sevenwaters. But my father was caught up in the same bitter feud as Lord Richard. This cause gripped them, body and spirit, and it left no room for anything else. So our cottagers had gone hungry, and their walls had crumbled, and they had feared Lord Colum, not respected him. I wondered how they were faring now. My brothers had begun to take some steps to redress the balance. But my brothers were gone. There was only my father and the lady Oonagh.

  I decided, eventually, to take matters into my own hands. Lady Anne had said I was a burden to Red. But I had not asked to be brought here. Nobody told him to set a guard outside my door every night, and keep me close to the house where he could see me. Nobody asked him to sit by me and wait while I wept and bring me safe home. Nobody bade him carry me when I was tired, and make sure I ate properly. Nobody but himself. Unless—well, there was that. Make sure she is not hurt again. You have chosen well. And yet, Red was so strong. Could he really be acting under a spell, some sort of command laid on him by the Fair Folk that night, to protect me until I completed my task? Could he bear such a burden without knowing it? The more I thought about this, the more I believed it to be so. It explained much. It explained the most difficult thing, why Red seemed to be prepared to wait for as long as it took, for me to tell him about his brother. He seemed in no hurry for this to occur. Men were not usually very good at waiting. Another man would have beaten the answer out of his prisoner the day he caught her. I had no doubt Lord Richard would have done so. I had seen my father try it. There was no other reason for Red to keep me here so long. I supposed I was a burden. I was still far from welcome. And it was only one step for the household’s fear and distrust of me to spill over onto him. To destroy the harmony and trust that were at the core of this small community. Questions were asked as to why he brought me here. Why he kept this evil influence in the heart of his land, putting his own people at risk. Probably it was only the love and respect they bore him that had curbed their tongues for so long. The lady Anne believed I had outstayed any welcome I might have had. It was only a matter of time before other voices began to say this out loud.

  So, I decided I would not ask Red for help. One morning I took an empty sack and a sharp knife, and I waited until a widely yawning Ben left his guard post in my garden and wandered off to the kitchens in search of an early breakfast. Then I slipped away. The night before, I had told Margery I was unwell and might sleep late. My womanly courses had begun again, and this provided a good excuse for a short indisposition. I chose this day because I knew they were busy, the men, preparing fields for seeding on the far western hillside, some distance along the valley. They would be away all day, and nobody would be looking for me. With any luck I would be back before my absence was noticed.

  I followed the line of the river upstream, taking hidden paths under the willows. I wore my homespun gown and a gray cloak, and used my skills to stay unseen. It was a pity about Alys, who had a tendency to bark at squirrels and make busy rustling noises in the undergrowth. But I had not the heart to leave her behind, so keen was she to be included in the expedition, as doubtless she had been long years before with her young master. So I let her follow me, and slowed my pace to suit her short legs.

  The further we went from the house, the more my spirits rose. It was a fine, clear day, with a touch of warmth in the air, not quite spring, but the first faint promise of it. Tattered banners of cloud stretched across the sky. I watched a kestrel hovering, intent of purpose, before her headlong dive to the kill. At length we climbed beyond the riverbanks and up a gully where a small stream rushed down to meet the greater flow. And finally, there on its margins under a rocky outcrop, I found what I was looking for. It grew in luxuriant swathes on either side of the water, choking out the smaller ferns and cresses. I rested briefly, and Alys flopped down in the shade, panting. Then I set to work.

  My technique was well practiced. I opened the sack on the ground to one side, and I cut sharply into the base of the plant, one, two, and three, and the stems fell toward me. If I did it carefully, I did not hurt my hands too much, and the harvested starwort could be rolled into a neat bundle and carried on my back. I worked fast. The sun was high overhead, and it was a long way back to the house. I took as much as I could carry, enough for a whole shirt, maybe a little more. I should not have to come here again until well into summer. When I judged I had sufficient, I fastened the bundle with cord, and lifted it onto my shoulder. Before I reached home, the spines would work their way through the wrapping, and pierce my clothing and my skin. I was accustomed to this. Did I not carry one brother’s life on my back? That was worth any pain.

  We set out for home. I was happy, thinking of the four shirts lying ready in the wooden chest, and the fifth I would start on tomorrow. I was happy because I had the sun on my face, and I was out under the open sky, and because Alys was frisking ahead like a young pup. She disappeared under a stand of birches, and I bent to negotiate a step down between rocks.

  There was a whirring sound over my head, and a thud, and then a terrible cry, a yelping, piercing sound of sheer terror. I ran forward under the leafless trees, my heart thumping. Not again, please, not again. The little dog was pressed up against the silver-gray bark of a birch trunk, and she was howling and jerking her head from side to side. She was trying to reach something, a flash of bright blue. I was there in an instant, dropping knife and bundle, kneeling by her as she screamed her fear and pain. Blue feathers. An arrow, which had pierced the flesh of her shoulder and pinned her to the tree. The point was lodged deep in the bark.

  There was no time to think. With a man or woman, you could have said, keep still, I will help you. You could have explained what you would do. Even without words, you could have done that. With a dog, you just had to get on with it. I untied my bundle, looped the cord around her neck and tied it so it would not strangle her. As my hand passed before her mouth she snapped wildly and sank her teeth into my fingers. But once the cord was tied, I could hold it down with one foot and use it to keep her head to one side, more or less. Then the knife. I stretched for it. If only she would stop howling so. If she would just stop. My fingers clutched at the knife. There, I had it. And now, I must cut the arrow cleanly, close to the trunk, and then I must draw the shaft out from her flesh. I watched her carefully as I set to work. She was a very old dog. Perhaps the dreadful noise was a good sign. At least she had the strength to protest. I began to saw at the arrow shaft, blinking back tears, for with every wrenching movement I sent a wave of agony through her small body. It was an awkward task, and she strained her head around, eyes rolling, teeth snap
ping.

  “Need some help?”

  I froze. There was no mistaking the smooth, urbane voice of Red’s uncle, Lord Richard. I did not turn, but I felt a chill of fear down my spine.

  “Oh dear. That does look tricky. My apologies. It seems one of my huntsmen has a poor aim. He shall be disciplined.”

  He walked into view, a picture in immaculate riding gear, gloved and booted in the finest of soft leather, his tunic and leggings a deep midnight blue. His expression, under the curls of faded gold, was a study in rueful apology, with a hint of amusement.

  “Let me, my dear. Foolish old dog, isn’t she? I always did tell the boy he’d be better off with a deerhound, or even a pointer. Come, my hands are more apt for this.”

  I shook my head; I didn’t want him anywhere near me, or Alys. But he moved close, very close, and suddenly he had an extremely sharp knife in his hand. I shrank away from him. He lifted his brows with a half smile.

  “Anyone would think you were frightened,” he observed as he severed the arrow shaft with one swift slice. Alys staggered a few steps, and I tightened my grip on the makeshift lead.

  “What were you planning to do next?” he asked, stepping away. Ignoring him, I knelt and took hold of the arrow near the blue feathers on its tail. Placed my foot firmly on the rope again so Alys could hardly move. Pulled as hard as I could. The shaft slid clear with a horrible sucking sound and she gave a yelp of terror. It was over.

  “Bravo,” said Lord Richard, who had seated himself on a nearby tree stump to watch. “Now what?”

  I shot him a glance of intense dislike. The wound was bleeding; not badly, but it was a long way home. I used my knife to slash the hem of my shift, tearing a strip right around, and then I bound up the wound as neatly as I could. Alys did not try to bite me now. She sat shivering, watching me with trusting eyes. Lord Richard had said his man had a poor aim. What mark was this arrow meant for, I wondered?