Den of Wolves

by Juliet Marillier

  Where are you? One cautious step, two, three, and it was under her hand, tough, fibrous, as old as time – the root of an oak. Cara closed her fingers around it; rested her brow against it. Heard, sure and steady, the ancient voice within. Be safe, Daughter. You are one of ours.

  And not long after there came another voice, not a tree voice sounding only in her mind, but a human voice, a man’s, calling her name. ‘Cara! Cara, where are you?’ Up the top. Up in her own world. A stranger’s voice.

  She shaped the words she wanted. Here! I’m down here! But when she tried to call, they would not come out. All she could manage was a whisper. ‘Help! I’m here! Help!’

  ‘Cara! Are you down there somewhere?’

  This voice she knew. Tears flooded her eyes. Here! I’m down here! Why wouldn’t her voice work, even for Gormán? Had those fey folk put a fell charm on her even while she held the roots of the oak?

  You are safe. Hold on. Wait, Daughter, only wait.

  She waited, gripping the oak root, willing Gormán to know, somehow, that she was here.

  ‘Cara!’ That was the other man. And now there was a dog barking. Perhaps she had not fallen so very far after all.

  ‘Here,’ she whispered. ‘I’m here.’ Oh, gods, what if they gave up and went away, all because she couldn’t call like any normal person would be able to? What if they never came back?

  A sudden clamour from up there. Birds, cawing, screaming, flapping about. With it, a startled shout. ‘Morrigan’s britches!’ After that she could hear them talking, Gormán and the other man, though she could not make out what they were saying.

  ‘Cara!’ Gormán called from the top. ‘Don’t be afraid. One of us will climb down to you.’

  Relief flooded through her. They knew. They knew she was here. But shouldn’t there be light from up there, if they were close enough to call and be heard? Could it already be night? She heard the whisper of a rope snaking down until its end touched the earthen floor of the cavern. Her lifeline. One of the men would come down, and somehow they’d get her back up, maybe with the rope tied around her waist, and then –

  ‘Kraaa.’ The crow swooped down the shaft to land on her shoulder, sudden and heavy. A warning, clear and urgent. Move. Now. Quick. And another sound, a hissing, a muttering, a movement across the dark space. Whatever they were, they had lost patience. They were coming for her.

  Cara let go of the oak root, turned, stumbled forward with arms outstretched, found and seized the rope. The crow flew upward, and as the cavern filled with strange sounds, growling, baying, scampering, whistling, she began to haul herself up after it. No time to think. No time to be afraid. Only breathe and climb. Hand over hand; leg twisted through the rope. Strange fingers reached up to rip at her skirt, to claw at her leg, to pull at her shoes. A sound of feet trampling the earthen floor, many feet. A smell of bodies crowded into the space, musky and choking. Their voices raised in a din of shouting, screeching, taunting. She hauled again, and now she was out of their reach. The crow screamed, for a moment drowning their mockery. Cara climbed.

  From the top, now, came the calls of other birds; it sounded as if there was a whole flock of them waiting for her. It became lighter. Not daylight, but an unsteady flickering. Her arms were burning with effort. Every part of her hurt. But she was nearly there. Gormán’s face was as white as a ghost’s as he leaned over the opening.

  ‘Careful, Gormán,’ Cara called, and her voice came out with no trouble this time, just like anyone else’s. A bit breathless, that was all. ‘Step back from the edge.’

  Then she was close enough for him to reach her and help her up the last bit onto the level ground at the top. Her legs would hardly hold her. Her arms ached so much she couldn’t bear to move them. Her palms felt as if they’d been scorched. The other man was saying, ‘Move right away from the drop. Out into the open.’ A big man. A very big man, with a grey dog beside him. He was undoing the rope, which had been tied around a massive stone. Coiling it neatly and putting it over his shoulder. ‘The plan was that we’d come down for you,’ he said mildly. ‘Didn’t expect you to do all the work yourself.’

  Gormán drew her away, out into the clearing. The big man picked up the lantern and followed. The light caught his face, a plain, honest sort of face, looking surprised and smiling at the same time.

  ‘Thank all the gods you’re safe, Cara.’ Gormán’s voice was shaking. Big, strong Gormán who had an answer to every problem. ‘Why didn’t you call out and let us know you were there? If it hadn’t been for those birds we might never have found you!’

  It was night time. She must have been down there for hours and hours. Standing in the dark, not moving. No wonder she felt strange. Where were the birds now? The forest was quiet.

  ‘Are you hurt? What happened?’

  ‘Time enough for that later.’ The other man’s voice was quiet, deep, calm. By his side stood the grey dog, as steadfast as its master.

  ‘This is Grim,’ Gormán said. ‘There’s quite a search on for you. A lot of folk out.’

  ‘Mistress Blackthorn’s Grim,’ Cara said, thinking she would have known this without being told his name. Mistress Blackthorn didn’t talk about her friend much, but she had said enough for it to be quite plain who this was. A tall, broad man, bigger than anyone else in the district. Kind. Strong. Calm. Good at whatever he did. A man with big hands, who’d made that delicate little hedgehog.

  ‘That’s me, and this is Ripple. Best get you home, mm?’ He waited a moment, then said, ‘Good bit of climbing, that. Strong and steady. Well done.’

  His kindness brought tears to her eyes. ‘There were – there were things, folk –’ No, she couldn’t talk about what was down there, not even to Gormán. Not even to this man who was like Blackthorn, a person she knew straight away was trustworthy. ‘I couldn’t wait for you to come down.’

  ‘Home,’ said Gormán. ‘Your father is distraught, and there are people out looking for you all over the forest. Can you walk on your own?’

  Silly question. Hadn’t she just climbed that rope all by herself? ‘Of course,’ Cara said as her knees buckled under her and the forest turned to a swirling darkness and then to nothing.

  21

  ~Grim~

  Good result. Girl seems all right, no bones broken though she’s worn herself out. Can’t tell us what happened to her. Or doesn’t want to. Not for me to ask anyway. This Cara, she’s not a big girl like Emer, she’s thin as a young willow. But strong. Can’t believe she shinned up that rope so quick. That’d be quite a trick for anyone. Though Blackthorn did say the girl liked climbing trees. Sounds like there was something down there that gave her a fright. Can’t help thinking of Bardán and how he fell down into the Otherworld and couldn’t get back for years and years. Can’t help wondering if it’s the same spot. Oddest thing was those birds coming, all kinds together, just when we were going to give up and go looking somewhere else. And Gormán knowing straight away why they were flying around screeching and flapping their wings in our faces. She’s down there, he said. Cara’s down there. And she was.

  I carry Cara back toward the house. Gormán brings the lantern. Ripple’s off the rope, padding along quietly beside us. When we get to the main track Gormán calls out, ‘She’s safe! We’ve got her!’ in case any of the other searchers are close. Cara comes out of her faint when he yells, asks to be put on her feet. Goes off to relieve herself behind a tree. When she gets back we give her some water.

  ‘They kept saying . . .’ She sounds like she’s only half with us, and half still down that hole. ‘They kept saying drink, eat, aren’t you thirsty . . . promising all sorts of things . . . and they said . . .’ Her voice fades away.

  ‘Never mind that.’ Gormán sounds as if he doesn’t want to know. If I was him I’d be asking who said, and what did they say. Fey folk of some kind, I bet. Who else is going to be in a place like that? A
nd if it’s the same ones that made Bardán stay and work and ruin his hands, they’re not the nice kind. Not like the wee folk of Bann at all, and not like Conmael either. Funny, I could wish that fellow was here right now so I could ask him about this. He’d know who they are and what they’re up to. Not that he ever comes to talk to me. Or hardly ever. Blackthorn’s the one he’s interested in. I just happened to get saved when she did. In the right place at the right time, you might say. Though how Mathuin’s lockup could be the right place for anything is hard to believe. Senseless cruelty’s about it. Ruined men. Lost hope.

  ‘Grim?’

  Gormán’s asked me something and I haven’t heard a word. ‘What was that?’

  ‘We should move on. Put Master Tóla out of his misery. Cara says she can walk.’

  She tries for a while, holding on to Gormán’s arm, but she’s soon tired. ‘Sorry,’ she says. ‘My legs feel like jelly.’

  I pick her up again. She’s a lightweight, like Blackthorn. Taller, though. Not so easy to carry.

  ‘Sorry,’ she says again.

  ‘No trouble.’

  Pretty soon she falls asleep. Limp as a doll, head on my shoulder. Wonder when she fell down there, how long she was on her own in the dark. Or not on her own, but with something else there, whispering who knows what in her ear.

  ‘She sleeping?’ Gormán asks.

  ‘Like a babe. Lucky escape.’

  ‘Listen,’ says Gormán, quiet-like. ‘Don’t say anything about those birds. What they did. To Tóla, I mean. He’s touchy about these things.’

  ‘What things?’

  ‘Anything out of the common run. Anything folk might think was magical. Fey. Upsets him. Scares him.’

  ‘You’re asking me to tell a lie.’

  ‘I’m asking you not to blurt out every little detail about what happened. Cara’s safe, she’s not hurt, she’ll be home very soon. She’ll tell him her own version of why she was wandering about in the woods. I’ll tell him where we found her and how she got herself out when she heard us. I’ll tell him it was thanks to you and your dog that we did find her, which is the truth. No need to say any more.’

  ‘Mm-hm.’ This is odd. It’s all odd. ‘Won’t Cara tell him about the birds anyway? And perhaps about whatever it was that was talking to her in the bottom of that hole that might be the same one Bardán fell down a long while ago?’

  ‘Why would it be the same?’ He’s quick with this. Edgy. Talking the way Master Tóla talks. ‘What’s Bardán been telling you?’

  ‘Not a lot. Might be the same spot. Might not be. Why is it we’re not telling the master all this?’

  ‘Can’t you just do as you’re asked to, Grim?’

  ‘I could. I could follow orders and never ask a single question. Only, I’m sorry for the wild man. You know I don’t think he’s being treated fair. And I’m going to have a word with the master about it, I’ve told him so. What if it’s all linked up, Bardán falling into the Otherworld and getting trapped there and Cara nearly doing the same?’

  ‘That’s nonsense. Why would you think it was the same?’

  ‘Didn’t you hear? About someone down there talking to her, making promises, offering things? Sounds like someone wanting her to go right in, don’t you think? Trap her the way they trapped Bardán.’

  ‘Shh, keep your voice down, you’ll wake her. Grim, this is not your concern. Just do the job you came to do and forget about everything else, will you? There are good reasons for keeping Bardán away from other folk. There are good reasons for Tóla not wanting everyone in the district knowing the story. About the heartwood house, I mean. And there are good reasons for Cara staying at Winterfalls and not coming home until the building is done. A word of warning. Speak to Tóla about the wild man if you will. Argue for better conditions. But don’t talk to the master about Cara, beyond saying you’re glad we found her. She’s his girl; his only child. He loves her above the rarest jewel in the world. His worst nightmare is some harm coming to her. He’d do just about anything to keep her safe. Do you understand?’

  I think of Cara climbing up that rope. Are we talking about some completely different girl now? Besides, if Tóla loves his daughter so much, why is he making her stay at Winterfalls when she hates it there? Wouldn’t he want her at home where he could see her every day? A man who’s as ready as Tóla is with his bags of silver needn’t worry about safety. He could hire a whole team of bodyguards for her. Wolf Glen may not be the easiest place to work, but there’s folk will take any job if you pay them well enough.

  ‘You must have known Cara as long as anyone,’ I say as the lights from Tóla’s house come in sight. Torches burning, showing the way home. ‘Since the day she was born, I’m guessing.’

  ‘Not quite so long,’ Gormán says. ‘But since she was very small, yes. Cara wasn’t born at Wolf Glen. Her mother went away to stay with kinsfolk. Took time to recover.’ He takes a look at the sleeping girl, cradled in my arms. ‘Cara was easy to love,’ he says, a smile in his voice. I’m thinking, not for the first time, that this would be a good sort of man, the kind anyone would want for a friend, if he wasn’t – what, exactly? Something’s holding that good man in check a lot of the time, stopping him from speaking out, binding him to Tóla’s rules. ‘I can remember the look on her little face the day they came back here, her and Suanach,’ he says. ‘Took her first steps that day, trying to go after some chickens. Big beaming smile, more gaps than teeth. Apple of everyone’s eye. Still is.’

  ‘Sad that she lost her mother so early.’

  ‘It was, and for Master Tóla most of all. Another reason why he’s touchy about his daughter’s safety. Please watch what you say to him. It’s been good having you here, doing the work. Wouldn’t want to have to find a replacement.’

  ‘That a threat?’ I keep my tone light.

  ‘A caution. Go lightly. If Cara wants to tell her father there were voices down in that hole, then I’m not going to stop her. But if she doesn’t tell him, best that you don’t say anything about that. What you heard her say, I mean. Tóla fears the uncanny above all things. He believes the heartwood house is the answer to those fears. If we hadn’t found Cara . . . if she’d come to harm . . .’

  ‘I’ve worked that out,’ I say. ‘You can be sure I won’t blurt out anything that’s going to get Bardán into any more trouble. If it gets me in trouble, so be it. I can handle it.’

  Cara starts to stir again so the talk’s over. Up ahead someone’s spotted us, me with the girl in my arms. And someone must have run to tell the master, because before we get to his grand house there he is, running toward us like any ordinary father who’s just got his daughter back when he didn’t know if he ever would. I put her down, she staggers into his arms, Tóla wraps her in a big hug. Tears running down his cheeks. Mistress Della’s crying and laughing at the same time. Cara looks asleep on her feet. Nobody says much for a bit, then Tóla lets his daughter go and Mistress Della takes charge. Puts an arm around the girl and leads her away toward the house.

  Tóla doesn’t go with them. Turns to Gormán and me. ‘You found her, the two of you? Where was she? What happened?’

  ‘Fell down a deep hole,’ I say, taking care with my words. ‘Not hurt, beyond a bruise or two. But she was stuck. No way out. Down there a while. Far off the nearest track. Ripple picked up the trail, led us to the spot. We called out, she called back. Let down a rope, she climbed up. All by herself. Tired out, who wouldn’t be? But unharmed. That’s about the size of it, Master Tóla.’

  Tóla glances at Gormán, who just nods. Doesn’t say I got it wrong about Cara calling out, which was the only lie in my story. Sounds like she lost her voice for a bit. Something Blackthorn’s told me happens to the girl quite often. Didn’t think of it when we were searching.

  ‘I owe the two of you a great debt,’ Tóla says. ‘And I thank you from the bottom of my heart
. We’re all weary. I’ll speak with you again in the morning. Grim, you will stay here tonight, of course. Gormán, you’ll find a spare bed for Grim in your quarters?’

  ‘Plenty of room,’ says Gormán. Makes me wonder again why they don’t put Bardán in there, if there’s so much space. Wonder where they did end up putting him. All very well for Tóla to be full of thank yous now. I haven’t forgotten he shook a man who was unarmed and held fast. Tomorrow I’ll be asking a few questions. Asking for a few changes. And if Master Tóla doesn’t like that, he can find himself a new builder.

  22

  ~Bardán~

  Cold. Everything aching. Rope around his wrists, rope around his ankles, why? What crime has he committed? The master’s in charge here, in charge of every little thing. Except one. Except the heartwood house. He just needs to live long enough to get it done. He just needs to survive the cold and the damp and the blows. And the sadness. The cottage all crumbling away, the graves neglected, the lovely embroidered picture, the last one his mother ever made, worn away to rags and tatters. Gone, all gone. And . . . and . . . There is a sorrow harder than those. A sadness fit to wrench the very heart from a man’s body. A grief deeper than the deepest grave, darker than the most shadowy corner of the forest. A loss beyond all others.

  Did Tóla say something about a missing girl? Bardán remembers the day he came back to Wolf Glen; the day he looked at the ruin of the heartwood house and saw in his mind how he would build it again. The day he saw a girl up in the big oak. A girl who looked like someone he once knew, long ago. But when he asked, Tóla said, ‘There’s no girl here.’

  ‘It was a lie,’ the wild man mutters to himself, struggling to move his aching limbs, wondering where Grim has gone, Grim with his kind face and his sharp knife that could cut these bonds in an instant. ‘There was a girl. A baby girl. Where did she go?’ Memory hits him, as cold as the winter sea, and on a sobbing breath he whispers, ‘Where is she? Where is my daughter?’ But he’s down deep again, in some dark cellar, and there’s nobody to hear.