Kushiels Justice

by Jacqueline Carey

Page 35

 

  The harpist looked at her for a long, long moment. I couldn't see his face, but hers was unreadable. Joscelin and I exchanged a glance. In silent accord, we moved closer. But Ferghus offered no threat, only took a long breath.

  "And so the harbingers of change are upon us once more," he said lightly. "With dancing blades and beauty to put the stars to shame. Twenty years ago, we failed to take heed, and the world turned upside down in your wake. What now, I wonder?”

  "Is he always like this?" Phèdre asked Grainne.

  The Lady of the Dalriada smiled. "More or less, yes. ”

  The harpist loosed another unexpected peal of laughter. "Oh, indeed! Well played, fair lady, well played. " He bowed to Grainne. "And to you, my lady, I accept your offer of hospitality. I would dine in your hall this evening. ”

  So it was that Innisclan hosted a master bard of the Maghuin Dhonn.

  It was a strange, constrained meal. To be fair, Ferghus was an exemplary guest. He ate and drank with gusto, complimenting the fare. There was nothing obvious about him that was extraordinary. He didn't even have the woad facial markings that Morwen bore and that rendered the Cruithne exotic to a D'Angeline eye. And yet strangeness clung to him like a cloak. He brought a tang of wild places into the stone halls of Innisclan with him.

  He was as different in his own way as we were.

  D'Angelines.

  The realization struck me at the table, as I glanced at Ferghus, at Phèdre and Joscelin. They, too, looked out of place there. I supposed I did, too.

  "What a thing, eh?" The harpist caught my eye. "Earth's Oldest and Youngest dining at the same table. ”

  "So you claim, my lord," Dorelei murmured.

  "Little sister of the Cullach Gorrym. " His unblinking gaze fell on her. "Our blood flows in your veins, too. " He splayed three fingers, touching his cheek below his right eye. "Where do you think your mother's line gets its gift?”

  Dorelei turned pale, the woad dots that marked her own cheek standing out in contrast. "If it is true, it is also true that we never used it for ill. ”

  "Will you give insult in the Lady's own household?" Ferghus smiled his easy smile. "Ah, now! That's no way to bargain for your prince's freedom. Tell me, lass, do you love him? The pretty lad with the sea-blue eyes and another's name written on his heart?”

  Her pallor turned to a violent flush.

  "Ferghus…" Grainne began.

  "You spoke of insult, my lord?" I interrupted, keeping my voice as light as his. "Then I do believe we are at quits, for you have just given insult to my lady wife. " I smiled at him. "But mayhap we can mend our differences over a cup of uisghe, for there is the matter of another insult yet to be discussed. ”

  He tapped the table with lean, restless fingers. "Morwen, is it?”

  "You know perfectly well it is," Grainne said to him.

  Ferghus eyed her sidelong. "Fetch the uisghe, then. I've a fancy to play a tune first. ”

  She nodded at Conor and Caolinn, who ran to fetch a jug of uisghe and a tray of earthenware cups. Brennan poured while Ferghus removed his harp from its case and checked the tuning with loving care. The harp looked old, the wood smooth and polished through long handling. It was a simple, unadorned instrument, but the sweeping lines were wrought with exquisite beauty.

  The harpist tossed back his cup of uisghe, so quickly my throat burned in sympathy. He closed his eyes and smacked his lips, then held his cup out to be refilled. He drank half of that, then settled the harp on his lap.

  "Listen," he said to us, and began to play.

  To describe perfection is an impossible thing. Ferghus played the harp the way a swallow takes wing, effortless and graceful. The first notes brought tears to my eyes. His playing was so beautiful, it made me want to laugh and weep all at once. My heart ached within my breast, pierced by the sheer loveliness of it.

  And then he began to sing.

  He sang well, although no better than any number of musicians I'd heard in the Queen's salon. It was his harping that uplifted the song and made it soar. It was so beautiful, it was hard to concentrate on the verses he sang. It was some long minutes before I realized I recognized the tale he was telling, or at least some version of it.

  It was a story of the Maghuin Dhonn, and how they had suffered under the yoke of Tiberium. How they had tried to accommodate them, to assimilate them, as they had accommodated the folk of the Cullach Gorrym, the Tarbh Cró, the Eidlach Or, and the Fhalair Ban.

  How they had failed.

  How their people had sickened and died as the army of Tiberium occupied the land, taming it with stone roads, bringing strange diseases from faraway places. How they had dwindled and fled to the wild places, the last bastion left to them.

  How they had prayed to their untamed gods and goddesses and to the Maghuin Dhonn herself, their diadh-anam, the lodestone of their existence. How the greatest magician among them, mighty Donnchadh, fasted and prayed. How he had drunk the sacred broth and gone alone to the Place of the Gates, and beheld a vision of the future.

  How mighty Donnchadh had seen how it might be averted through great sacrifice, and how he had transformed himself into a living incarnation of the Maghuin Dhonn, the mighty Brown Bear. How he had suffered himself to be sold into captivity and tormented for sport, until in his wrath he tore loose the stakes that bound him, and slew the Tiberian Governor of Alba.

  How he had lost his humanity and saved his people The song ended, the last notes fading into a profound silence. Ferghus sat with head bowed, his cheek leaned against the uppermost curve of his harp. I thought about his song, weighing it against the account of the Tiberian historian Caledonius, and the tale Drustan mab Necthana had told me about a bear-cub raised on human flesh by a maddened magician of the Maghuin Dhonn.

  I did not know where the truth lay.

  "My lord, you play most beautifully. " It was Phèdre's voice that broke the silence. Ferghus lifted his head and gazed at her. "And yet I am confused by your story. ”

  "How so?" he asked.

  Phèdre rested her chin on her fist, contemplating him with lustrous eyes. " 'Twas Cinhil Ru of the Cruithne who united the tribes of Alba and drove the Tiberians from your soil. How is it, then, that the Maghuin Dhonn claim the credit?”

  "Magic is a deep thing, lady, and the ways of gods are mysterious. " Ferghus stroked the gleaming wood of his harp. "Cinhil Ru rallied the Four Folk of Alba by telling them false tales about bears fed on the flesh of babes. He told them the Maghuin Dhonn had gone mad, that the same fate would befall all of them if they did not stand together. And so they did. " He showed his white teeth in a smile. "And afterward, once the Tiberians were gone, there came the Master of the Straits. For many, many years, Alba was protected. ”

  "Now that, surely, had naught to do with the Maghuin Dhonn," I said.

  He turned his smile on me. It looked friendly, but the appearance was belied by the restless glitter of his eyes. "Who can say? All things are bound to one another, though the bindings are hidden to the eye. I am a skilled bard, but a poor magician. ”

  "Speaking of bindings …" I tapped the croonie-stone.

  "Ah, yes. " Ferghus set down his harp with care and drank the rest of the uisghe in his cup. " 'Twas wrought in fairness, Morwen's binding, on taisgaidh ground. Yet you claim insult for the lad's carelessness?" he asked Grainne.

  "I do," she said. "It matters not where the charm was wrought. He was summoned against his will while he was a guest in my household. Will you have the world claim the Lady of the Dalriada cannot protect an honored guest in her own hall?" Grainne shook her head. "Indeed, I claim insult. But I am willing to forgive it in exchange for the mannekin trinket. ”

  Ferghus looked longingly at the uisghe jug. "Is that the whole of your offer?”

  "Would you have me sweeten it?" She laughed. "Fine, take the jug. ”

  "I will. " He reached across the ta
ble, snatching it agilely and setting it before him, then rose. After replacing his harp in its leather case, he slung the case over his shoulder. "I will take your offer to Morwen, and to Berlik, too. He will want a say in the matter. " His voice changed. "Tell me, Grainne. What if they refuse? Will you break our long truce?”

  His words hung in the air. Everyone looked to Grainne, who frowned. "So long as the lad is unharmed, I will not break our truce," she said slowly. "But so long as he is bound, the Old Ones will be unwelcome in my holdings. ”

  "Ah, lady!" Ferghus' gaze lingered on Conor. " 'Tis a hard answer. ”

  Grainne nodded. " 'Tis a hard question. ”

  "So be it. " The harpist plucked the uisghe jug from the table. "I'll return ere too many days have passed. ”

  With that, he took his leave.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  In the days following the harpist's visit, we spoke of little else. I tried not to engage in the speculation, for I could see it troubled Conor, and I felt for the boy. He took to absenting himself to pay long visits to the ollamh Aodhan, which I thought was to the good. The ollamh had a foot in both worlds, and he would give the boy good counsel.

  For my part, I was curious about the disparity between the history Drustan had related and the harpist's tale. I asked Dorelei for her thoughts, but she was reluctant to discuss it.

  "Can you not leave it be, Imriel?" she pleaded. "You've been told it's ill luck to speak of them. Do you not believe it yet?”

  I ran a finger beneath the strand of red yarn tied around my left wrist. "I only want to know the truth. ”

  "Your wants are dangerous things," Dorelei muttered.

  I gave her a hard look. "You've had no cause to complain of them lately. ”

  It was the first time we'd quarrelled; or come near to it, anyway. Like Conor, I decided it would be best if I absented myself for a time. I saddled the Bastard and rode to the seashore, where I spent the better part of an afternoon reading the book of love letters Sidonie had given me.

  Aside from pity for the plight of Remuel L'Oragen and Claire LeDoux of Namarre, I found myself unmoved. It was an unnerving sensation. I sat on a boulder and stared at the sunlight sparkling on the waves, trying to recapture the feelings I'd struggled so hard to suppress.

  I couldn't do it.

  They were still there. Of that, I was sure. Aodhan hadn't lied. I could sense them, in the same way I'd been aware of my own helpless will the night Morwen had summoned me. But I could no longer feel them.

  I'd thought myself glad of it until I'd tried. Now I was no longer sure. I tugged at the croonie-stone, wondering what would happen if I removed it. And then I thought about that night. Come here, Morwen had said, and I'd gone, obedient as a lamb to slaughter.

  "Blessed Elua," I murmured. "What will you?”

  There was no answer, save from the Bastard, hobbled nearby. He lifted his speckled head and snorted, gazing at me with incurious eyes. So I sighed, untied his hobbles, and rode back to Innisclan.

  By the time I arrived, I'd nearly forgotten the harsh words Dorelei and I had exchanged. Seeing her, I remembered and made an apology. She accepted it with a smile and tendered an apology of her own, and the matter was forgotten.

  So instead I spoke to Phèdre regarding the Maghuin Dhonn, asking her which version of their history she believed true, Drustan's or Ferghus'.

  "Like as not, the truth lies somewhere in between. " She was quiet for a moment. "Do you believe the tales of shapeshifting?”

  I thought about Morwen. "Mayhap. ”

  "Caledonius wrote that when they skinned the bear, they found a human body beneath its pelt," Phèdre observed. "I don't know, love. It may be that what Ferghus said was true, that it was powerful magic at work. And it may be that Drustan said was true, and the Maghuin Dhonn succumbed to madness nonetheless. " She smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. "One truth does not discount the other. ”

  "No," I agreed. "It doesn't. ”

  We were both silent then, remembering Daršanga, where dark magics were at work and madness held sway. Where I had been enslaved through a quirk of unhappy fate. Where Phèdre and Joscelin had rescued me, and averted a great evil.

  "All things are bound to one another," Phèdre mused. "Though the bindings be hidden to the eye. 'Tis an interesting notion. ”

  "The harpist was an interesting fellow," I said wryly.

  She laughed. "Grainne thinks so. ”

  "The Lady Grainne has …interesting …tastes. " I eyed her. "You haven't…?”

  "No, no. " Phèdre looked amused. "That was a long time ago. She was merely curious, I think. ”

  "What of Hyacinthe?" I asked.

  "Hyacinthe. " Her expression warmed when she said his name. "I'll tell you one thing. I'll be glad when we're safe under his aegis. ”

  It wasn't exactly an answer, but it wasn't exactly my concern, either. Once, not long ago, it would have bothered me. Now the sharp edges of my jealousy seemed worn away. Some of it, I thought, was maturity. I'd grown and changed a great deal in the past year, and I'd even learned somewhat of what it meant to be in love.

  But some of it wasn't. Some of it was due to the muting of my own desire.

  Later, I tested the notion, forcing myself to envision somewhat that should have tormented me: Maslin de Lombelon in Sidonie's bed.

  It gave me a distant pang. Somewhere, on the far side of the ollamh's protections, I knew it hurt. I knew it provoked irrational jealousy, bitter and hateful. But I didn't feel it, except as a vague irritation; a response, mayhap, to somewhat I'd read in a book or heard in a friend's tale. To be honest, I was in two minds as to whether I wanted to feel it. Mayhap what I'd said was true and this curse was an unexpected blessing after all. To be sure, it made my life with Dorelei easier to bear. We'd exchanged words, yes, but even that wasn't entirely a bad thing. It was a sign that the relationship between us was growing real. We were no longer walking on eggshells around one another, fearful of giving offense.