‘I had some business with Tóla,’ she says. ‘I needed to collect some items for Cara. He’s forbidden her to leave Winterfalls until your building job is finished. He couldn’t really pack me straight off home the way he did her, especially as I told him I was riding on to Longwater.’
‘Fair way,’ I say. ‘You’ll be tired. On your own.’
‘You know I can look after myself. But I wish you were home, and that is no joke. Not that I’ll be there myself until Oran and Flidais get back from court. I’ve promised to stay with Cara. And she’s . . .’ Blackthorn looks around as if she’s worried someone might hear. The fellows are still having their brew over by the barn; I can hear them talking, laughing.
‘She’s what?’
‘She’s going through all the books in Oran’s library, looking for the story of the heartwood house. My idea, not hers, and maybe it wasn’t such a good one. Grim, about that night when you rescued her, did she tell you . . .’ She stops again. Drops her voice to a murmur. ‘Did she tell you about the voices she heard down in that place? Did she say anything about birds?’
‘Had a crow with her when she climbed up. And other birds flying around. Odd. Daytime birds. Should have been asleep at that hour. About voices . . .’ I think back. ‘She said something about being offered things. Someone trying to make her stay. Or go further in. Wasn’t making much sense at the time.’
‘She told me. A secret. But you need to know.’ Blackthorn’s whispering now. Keeps looking over her shoulder. ‘Fey voices, all the time she was down there, trying to coax her in. And when she wouldn’t do what they wanted, they started tormenting her. Saying her father was a liar. Saying her life had been a lie since the day she was born. Cara thinks it may be tied up with the heartwood house story. That if she finds it, it might explain everything. Only . . .’
‘Drink your brew. You look like you’re seeing ghosts.’
She takes a mouthful. ‘I was the one who started Cara looking. Only the more I think about it, the more I think this may be one of those times when it’s better that the truth never comes out.’
‘There’s a sad story about the first time. First time it was being built, I mean.’ I tell her about Bardán and his baby girl. Tell her the terrible thing that happened, the tale Tóla and Gormán told me. ‘He says she didn’t die. Couldn’t have. All wrapped up warm and safe. Keeps telling me that. The way he says it, it sounds like the truth. Wondering now if I was lied to earlier. Bardán asked me to help him find her, you know. His daughter. I feel sorry for him, whatever he’s done. Poor sod never had a chance. Down that hole and off to the Otherworld for fifteen years. Came out crippled and crazy.’
‘Morrigan’s curse,’ breathes Blackthorn. Thinking, most likely, the same thing I’m thinking. Only it’s impossible. ‘There’s a few ways you could tell that story and I don’t like any of them. The one that’s supposed to be true is as bad as the others.’
‘Thing is,’ I say, ‘once folk have made up their minds that a man’s lost his wits, it doesn’t matter what he says. Doesn’t matter what tale he tells – truth, lies, something in between. Folk don’t listen. Doesn’t make a difference how loud he shouts, or how clever his words are. Nobody hears.’
‘Danu’s mercy,’ mutters Blackthorn, staring at me. ‘You’re saying Bardán might have been telling the truth all the time? Or trying to?’
I think of those rhymes, the scraps of old lore the wild man mutters over and over. ‘Once they stole, twice they stole, stole them right away. That’s one of his rhymes. Stole them. There’s one stolen child we know about, and that’s Bardán’s father. But who’s the other one?’
We’re quiet for a bit, thinking.
‘Maybe that story about Bardán taking the child isn’t true at all.’ I picture him out in the woods, running, running. With his baby girl in his arms. Never mind what happened next, dropping her or leaving her, murder or horrible accident or something uncanny. What I want to know is, why was he running? When they told me the story they didn’t say anything about that. Just that he took his daughter and left. Why would he do that? Good job, place to stay, folk to look after the baby – he’d have been crazy to walk away. And he wasn’t crazy, not back then, or he wouldn’t have been able to build the heartwood house. Not long before, he’d been a man with work and his own house and family.
‘One part of it has to be true,’ says Blackthorn, glancing around again to make sure nobody can hear. ‘That his daughter died. They found her body. They buried her. They told the kinsfolk.’
We look at each other again.
‘Only got their word for it,’ I say. ‘Tóla’s and Gormán’s. The kinsfolk never saw the body. They made sure of that.’
‘Stole her right away,’ murmurs Blackthorn. ‘Made her disappear. How convenient that Bardán fell down that hole. No asking awkward questions from there.’
‘Mm-hm.’
‘I want to ask you something.’
‘Be quick, then. Fellows are on the way back over.’
‘You know what I’m thinking. The same thing you’re thinking. A possibility neither of us have put into words because, if it’s true, it’s going to turn a lot of folk’s lives upside down.’
‘What’s the question?’ I ask, but I know what it is.
Blackthorn’s whispering now. ‘Whose daughter is Cara, really?’
‘She might take after her mother,’ I say.
‘She’s surely nothing like Tóla,’ Blackthorn says. ‘I wonder if Suanach was a woman who could hear the voices of trees. I wonder if birds used to come and perch on her uninvited. I wonder if a crow ever came to her rescue.’
‘Can’t see Tóla marrying a woman like that. For a bully of a man, he’s mightily scared of the uncanny.’
‘Mm. Bardán, on the other hand, had a mother who was half-fey.’
‘You’re saying . . .?’ She’s saying what I’ve been thinking, only I can’t see how it could be.
‘I’m not sure what I’m saying yet. Most likely something that shouldn’t be spoken of here. Grim, what is that rhyme you told me parts of, the one about the birds? It was one of Bardán’s, wasn’t it?’
‘Every birdling in the wood?’
‘That’s it. Do you know all of it?’
‘Heard him sing it all. Can’t remember every part, though. Something about feathers. It’s a charm to keep a child safe.’
‘Could we ask him?’
Bardán’s coming back, the other fellows behind. And we can’t ask, because Gormán appears from the other direction, carrying a bundle of hazel rods I’ve been wanting for the thatching.
‘Cara made herself a talisman, with feathers.’ Blackthorn talks fast, in a murmur. ‘Nine different kinds. She went through the list, starling, woodcock, owl –’
‘Mistress Blackthorn?’ Gormán says, cutting her off. ‘My name is Gormán. I’m the head forester here. I’m heading over to Longwater now, so I’ll escort you. One of the lads is fetching your horse.’
I see her wanting to say, No, thank you, I’m fine on my own, then deciding not to. Though if she thinks she’ll get anything useful out of Gormán she’s dreaming. Me, I’m happy she won’t be doing the ride on her own. That would make her cross, if she knew. Gormán must have been down at the house, talking to Tóla. I bet the master asked him to make sure she didn’t stay too long.
Lots of things I want to say to her but I can’t, not with him right there and the others close by now, within earshot. Be safe. Come back soon. I miss you. And more. Can’t say any of it. Just wasted all that time talking about wretched Bardán and Cara and the whole sorry mess.
‘I’d better go,’ she says. ‘I have a few folk to see in Longwater, not only Fann.’ Which might be a way of telling me she’s going to talk to folk about what happened fifteen years ago, and whether Tóla really is a liar. Good luck to her. Be like getting blood o
ut of a stone. If they’ve kept a secret all this time they’re hardly going to open up now.
‘Tell the other fellows down there I’ll drop in and see them some time,’ I say. ‘When the build’s finished. And ride safe.’
‘Look after yourself, big man.’
‘You too, Lady.’
She doesn’t take my hand this time. Just looks at me, and I look back, and then she turns away and she’s gone.
At least I saw her, I tell myself as we get back to work on the heartwood house. At least she came here. And even if Bonehead didn’t say any of the things he wanted to say, maybe there was no need to. Her and me, often enough we don’t need words. Though words can mean a lot. Strength in his hands, I think. Truth in his eyes. Love in his heart. Honour in his spirit.
And I wonder if a tiny baby, so new it hardly knows what world it’s come into, can listen to a lullaby and remember it deep down. I wonder if that baby, years later when she’s a girl of fifteen, can speak the words without knowing where she got them from. If she’s got a drop or two of fey blood, maybe she can. I wonder if there was only ever one baby girl at Wolf Glen.
29
~Blackthorn~
‘I hope Cara is well,’ said Gormán as we rode down to Longwater. ‘Is she recovered from her ordeal?’
‘An experience like that must make its mark on a person,’ I said. ‘Especially a young person. But yes, she is well. Happier now than when she first came to Winterfalls.’
‘We miss her.’
‘She misses you,’ I said. ‘She speaks very fondly of you, Gormán; as if you were family. You taught her wood carving, didn’t you? She’s remarkably skilful.’ When he glanced across at me, I added, ‘We let her borrow Grim’s tools. It was obvious from the first that she knew what she was doing.’ Should I take a risk, step into the dangerous territory of old secrets? ‘Gormán, there’s something I’d like to ask you.’
‘Yes?’
‘What is the old tale about a heartwood house? Where did Master Tóla get the idea from?’
‘Why would you want to know that, Mistress Blackthorn?’
‘I’m intrigued. As a wise woman I know a lot of tales, and I’m always interested in hearing more. I’ve never come across a heartwood house before.’
‘I don’t know where he got the story. From a druid, perhaps. A heartwood house is considered lucky. Each type of wood contributes a particular blessing. Oak for strength and endurance. Beech for ancient knowledge. Fir for clarity. Blackthorn for facing reversals with determination. And so on.’ There was good humour in his smile. Had the situation been different, I could have liked this man.
‘You sound half-druid yourself, Gormán.’
‘I’m a forester. A forester knows trees.’
‘Cara’s favourite tree at Winterfalls is an ancient yew.’
‘I know the one,’ said Gormán. ‘New growth and old side by side. The younger wood glowing pink when the sun catches it. A remarkable tree. Its spirit born again, one might say.’
Half-druid indeed. ‘What blessing would yew bring to the heartwood house?’ I asked.
He hesitated before responding. ‘An understanding of the past. The wisdom to learn from what has come before. Some would say rebirth.’
It struck me that this would be a very useful lesson for Tóla to learn. But I did not say so. ‘Are you sure you don’t know any more of the old story?’
‘I’m sure of one thing, Mistress Blackthorn. I’ve told you as much as I have leave to tell.’
We rode on further, down the track toward the lake. Clouds shaded the sun. I’d best not take too long visiting folk or I might be riding home in the rain with the light fading. Or spending another night in Longwater.
‘Cara loves birds, doesn’t she?’ I asked, trying for a casual tone.
Gormán took his time in replying. After a while he said, ‘Or birds love her. It’s been thus since she was a small child, running about the yard with a flock of chickens at her heels. I could wish those times back, Mistress Blackthorn. They were blessedly uncomplicated.’
‘Life has a habit of getting complicated, and often not in ways we would choose.’
‘Indeed. Mistress Blackthorn . . .’
‘Go on.’
‘Please tell Cara I asked after her. Let her know that I hope all’s well with her, and that I look forward to her return home.’
‘Why don’t you ride on to Winterfalls with me and tell her yourself?’
‘I wish I could, but my duties require a quick inspection of some goods in Longwater followed by a swift return to Wolf Glen. I hope the folk down there can provide you with an escort for the remainder of your ride.’
‘They’ll offer, I’m certain.’ How was it the man was so friendly and courteous, yet had not told me a single useful thing? Was I asking the wrong questions? ‘You must have known Cara since she was a babe in arms.’
‘In fact, Cara was not born at Wolf Glen, but at the home of her mother’s kinsfolk in the south.’
‘Oh? Why was that?’
‘Mistress Suanach was not in robust health. It was considered wiser; her folk had a physician whom they trusted.’
It was another part of the story that felt a little odd. ‘But she died anyway.’
‘Only much later, after they returned home. I remember the day they came back; little Cara sitting up in the saddle in front of her mother, proud as proud. When she was lifted down she staggered across the stable yard on her own feet, pointing at those chickens. Her first word was bird. Her second was tree.’
I tried not to let my surprise show. There was an obvious question, but if I asked it, he might realise he had revealed a little too much. I chose another one. ‘Cara’s mother died not long after that, didn’t she?’
‘A fever. It carried her away almost overnight. A terrible time. Master Tóla was out of his mind with grief. He loved his wife above anything. Cara’s safety became all-important to him. As it still is. Not only to him but to all of us. The master’s actions may seem odd to you, Mistress Blackthorn, but every decision is made in Cara’s best interests.’
I held my tongue, though there was plenty I could have said. Sending her to Winterfalls without explanation, that first time, had led to her running away and almost being lost forever. If not for her own resourcefulness and Ripple’s tracking skills, she might now be in the Otherworld or worse. ‘I’ll give her your message, and I’m sure she’ll be glad to hear it. I know that she misses you very much. And the forest. That’s where she feels most at home.’
‘And she must be missing her father.’
‘Him too.’ Though in my opinion he didn’t deserve it. ‘Ah, I see the lake. We must be almost there. Does that side path lead to a cottage? The place where that man used to live, the one who is working with Grim and the other builders?’
‘What do you know about that?’ His tone was suddenly sharp, and I was reminded that he was a big, strong man, whose hands would be weapons in themselves.
‘The day Cara went missing, Grim and I were both in Longwater. Grim must have told you. I was assisting with a difficult childbirth and he had escorted me there. I sent him off to gather herbs and he happened to meet that man, Bardán, at the old hut.’
‘The folk at Longwater talked to you about the wild man? About the time when he lived there?’
‘The folk at Longwater had very little to say on the subject. Their attention was elsewhere, with one of their own in danger of dying along with her unborn babe. We were all working hard. I know not to gossip, Gormán. So does Grim.’
‘You seem unduly interested in our situation. I don’t understand why that would be.’
‘No? I’ve been placed more or less in charge of Cara. I like the girl. She’s interesting. A puzzle. She’s also sad and confused, and I wish I could help her more.’ Should I push this a little further?
Risk getting myself in trouble with Tóla all over again? In view of what Gormán had already let slip, it might be worth trying. ‘She is keeping herself busy. She’s undertaken a kind of mission.’
‘A mission? What do you mean?’
‘She wants to find the story of the heartwood house,’ I said as we rode down to level ground and the last approach to Longwater settlement. The lake was slate-grey under the clouds; a few swans floated there, ghost-pale against the water. ‘She’s looking for it in the prince’s books. Hoping it might explain the situation.’
‘Tell her to stop.’ Gormán drew his horse to a halt; mine came to a stand beside it. ‘Tell her to stop looking. This is best left alone. Master Tóla would say the same. Let Cara continue down that path and she’ll stir up something nobody would want. Believe me.’
‘I won’t ask you to explain that. I’ve had some doubts about her project too. But it is keeping her occupied. Giving her less time to brood about the injustice of her situation. As she sees it,’ I added hastily. ‘I can’t order her to stop. It’s for her father to do that, if he doesn’t want her finding out the truth. But, Gormán, this is not some sweetly biddable young woman. Cara loves her father. She wants to please him. But she’s no longer a child, and she has good cause to want the truth. Tóla might order her to stop looking now, and she might do as she’s told. But sooner or later she’ll try again. If there’s some kind of secret, sooner or later she’ll find it.’
There was a long silence then. Long enough to bother me. The horses didn’t move; we didn’t move; it felt as if time stood still for a while. Then Gormán said, ‘You and Grim. Fond of each other, are you?’
‘That’s none of your business!’ My voice was a snarl. I felt myself flush.
‘And this is none of yours, Mistress Blackthorn. You and your friend should step back from this now. Grim with his questions and you with your . . . encouragement of Cara. Go any further and you will put several folk in danger. Yourselves included.’
Den of Wolves Page 28
