The Well of Shades

by Juliet Marillier

  “Feeler lost?” inquired Saraid.

  “I don’t know. I don’t know where he is.”

  “Feeler coming soon, Sorry,” the child whispered to her doll, rocking it in her arms again. “Cow in meadow, sheep in fold…”

  “He might come.” Eile felt obliged to offer this correction.

  Derelei stirred at last, blinking, stretching, getting up with such an odd expression in his big, pale blue eyes that Eile felt a prickling at the back of her neck. For a moment he looked quite Other. He put both hands up to rub his eyes. A moment later his chin wobbled, his lips trembled and he began to cry.

  “Derry’s sad.” Saraid clutched Sorry to her chest, staring.

  The sobs were piteous, heart-wrenching. Eile gathered the small boy in her arms, hugging him close, her heart thumping. What might be the cause of such sudden, acute misery? “It’s all right, Derelei,” she said helplessly. “We’re here, you’re all right.” It seemed to her this was the kind of crying that followed a nightmare, part confusion, part fright. After a while she could detect speech in Derelei’s weeping, though for his age he had few words. He kept repeating something that sounded like border, or border loss. What that meant, she had no idea.

  “Eile sing,” Saraid suggested. “Dog song.” Her small voice was shaky; she seemed on the verge of bursting into tears herself out of sympathy.

  It seemed a reasonable idea. The dog song had helped them out of a few tricky situations before.

  “Doggy’s got a bone; Doggy’s got a bone;

  Doggy’s going to eat it up and run back home.”

  Saraid put Sorry down and got to her feet, ready for action. Derelei still heaved and hiccupped in Eile’s arms.

  “Ready?” Eile said. “Doggy’s got a—” stamp! “Doggy’s got a—” stamp! “Doggy’s going to eat it up and run back—” stamp! Very good, Saraid. Now Derelei and I will join in.” She stood up with the boy in her arms; the sobbing had died down a little. “Doggy’s got a—” stamp, clap! Managing this while supporting Derelei’s weight required a certain agility. “Doggy’s got a—” stamp, clap!

  After a little, when the number of required actions had grown to five, Eile noticed that she had an audience: the nursemaid with Anfreda, now awake, in her arms and, more embarrassing, Dovran watching her from down the garden, a wide grin on his face. Ah well, at least Derelei was over the worst of his sudden sadness. He wriggled to be put down, then stood watching as Eile and Saraid finished the dog song with an energetic sequence of stamp, clap, turn around, shake, jump, bow.

  “Sorry’s better now,” said Saraid, who was not at all out of breath. “Derry all better now?”

  Derelei said nothing. An occasional leftover sob shook his tiny frame, but his eyes no longer saw into that other world. Eile crouched down to wipe his nose with a handkerchief. It was hard to know how to comfort him; the simple words she would use with her own daughter, the hugs and kisses seemed to help, but she sensed a depth in this scrap of a child that went far beyond anything in her own experience. There was no knowing what it was he had seen.

  Tuala returned from the funeral rite looking sad and tired, and Eile felt some reluctance in reporting what had happened. She did so anyway, putting herself in Tuala’s place and recognizing that she would want to know. The queen seemed to take it with equanimity.

  “Yes,” Tuala said, “he sees things ordinary folk cannot. The water is a strong lure for him, and he is too young to know that he should look away. All you can do is make sure he does not fall in, and wait for him to return to himself. You’ve done well, Eile. I should have warned you about this.”

  “He kept saying something. Border, I think it was. Border loss. I couldn’t understand.”

  Tuala was taking off her good shoes and settling on a bench to feed the baby. “Broichan,” the queen said. “He speaks often of his… his tutor and friend, the king’s druid. Broichan left court before the winter; nobody knows where he went. Derelei still misses him. Border loss… Broichan lost.”

  “It seemed far worse than mere sadness. He was distraught. What does he see, a vision of another place? Things to come?”

  Tuala took Anfreda from the nursemaid’s arms and put her on the breast. “I can’t tell you,” she said. “For every seer it is different. I think Derelei sees Broichan, yes. He wants his teacher home. Whether the visions are random or whether my son can summon what he most wishes to be shown, only Derelei can tell you. Or could, if he had the words.”

  Eile felt something cold run through her, like a breath of winter. “He’s so little,” she said. “So young to have such power. If I were his mother I would be so scared… I’m sorry, my lady, I shouldn’t have said that.”

  “Not at all, Eile. I appreciate your frankness. My son does scare me at times, but not as much as the thought that unscrupulous people might recognize his rare talent and seek to exploit it. Derelei will have much to offer Fortriu as a man, if he can be kept safe until he learns to harness his power.”

  “Much to offer—as king, you mean?”

  Tuala smiled. “My son can never be king of Fortriu, Eile. For the Priteni the royal succession runs through the female side of the family. Kings are selected from the sons of those women. Bridei’s mother was a cousin of the last king, Drust the Bull. Ana’s sons would be eligible; so would Breda’s. And also those of my good friend Ferada, whose mother was another kinswoman of Drust. Of course, Ferada swears she will never marry or produce children, but I’m not convinced.”

  “There was a man with her yesterday, at the handfasting,” Eile ventured. “They seemed… attached to each other, I thought.”

  “Garvan, the royal stone carver, yes. An unlikely pairing, you might think. They are friends, that’s all. Or so Ferada would have us believe. She’s a determined woman and is making up for lost time. Her own school; it’s her long-held dream to make a success of that, and to produce young women who know their own minds and are not afraid to speak out. It is a difficult path; she must swim against a strong tide, for many of our men find her project odd, even threatening. I admire her greatly.”

  Eile did not reply. A woman who had the strength to do such things against the opinion of powerful people was a figure of awe.

  “Each of us has her strengths, Eile,” said Tuala. “Now I should let you go. Will you leave Saraid here with us awhile? Derelei has need of an understanding playmate today.”

  EILE MADE HER way to the part of White Hill where Breda and her cousin, the king of the Light Isles, were housed with their substantial entourage. These apartments were at the far side of the kitchens and great hall. She walked along a broad passageway with an arched roof and through a big doorway into a chamber hung with bright woven pictures, where several of Breda’s attendants were clustered by a little hearth, conversing in low voices. All of them fell silent as Eile entered. For a moment she wished she had not agreed to leave Saraid with Derelei; if her daughter had been present, these girls would have smiled and shown pretense of welcome, at least. On the other hand, she assumed they had but recently come from Cella’s funeral rite. Perhaps sorrow had frozen their smiles and robbed them of polite words.

  She hated this kind of thing. Part of her knew she was a Gael and a bond-slave and had no business here with these people; their eyes told her she was so far below them they could not even despise her. Another part of her said, I am my father’s daughter; strong; a survivor. What’s a few snobbish girls?

  “Lady Breda, ask to see me?” She used the words she had prepared, making her voice steady. “I… sorry… Cella. Very sad.”

  One of the girls spoke, so rapidly there was no way Eile could follow. Others joined in. She stood with hands clasped behind her back, trying to look calm. She waited until the interchange, complete with whispers and giggling, had finished, then repeated into the silence, “Lady Breda, ask to see me?”

  “Eile!” a familiar voice called from an inner chamber.

  “Go on, then,” said someone ungraciously.
When none of them moved to accompany her, Eile put her chin up and walked across the chamber on her own, stopping to tap on the open door leading to the room where, it seemed, Breda was lodged.

  “You’re here at last! What took you so long? Come in and shut that wretched door, the girls are driving me crazy with their moaning.” The flood of Gaelic was music to Eile’s ears; now that Drustan was gone, there were few left at White Hill who could speak her tongue with complete fluency. She could hardly go to the king or queen when she needed someone to talk to, and Wid insisted she use the Priteni language in his company. She obeyed Breda’s command.

  The fair-haired girl was in bed as Eile had expected. She was sitting up with a small mountain of pillows behind her back and a jug and goblet on a little table beside her. The bedchamber was large, far grander than the one Ana and Drustan had shared, which had once been Ana’s own room at court. This place had a closed-in feeling; only a slit of a window let in the sun, and there were numerous candles lit on shelves along with an oil lamp that cast a mellow light on the embroidered hangings, scenes of folk picking berries, hunting deer, sailing in a squat little boat. Eile smiled, remembering that choppy sea voyage in the company of monks. It had felt so good to find she could help; to know she was not just useful, but an essential part of a team. She had landed in Dalriada with honorable blisters and a backache that was almost welcome. She could still feel the ropes in her hands. She could still see Faolan’s smile as he watched her, a rare, sunny smile, and Saraid’s gaze of wonderment as the sea surged all around them.

  “Sit down!” Breda ordered, patting the quilt, and Eile sat.

  “Are you feeling better?” she asked politely. In fact, Breda looked rosy and comfortable; if she was distressed about Cella’s death, she was hiding it well. Her eyes were sparkling, but her hands were restless; she picked at the bedding and twisted the silver rings on her slender fingers. “I’m so sorry about your handmaid,” Eile added. “What a shocking thing to happen.”

  “I was nearly killed myself,” Breda said. “That poxy horse they gave me almost threw me. I’ve never been so scared in my life.”

  “I heard the story,” Eile said. “King Bridei saved you. He must be a very good horseman, and brave as well. I’m glad you weren’t hurt. That boy, Bedo, broke his arm quite badly.”

  “It was Dovran who did most of the rescuing,” Breda said with a crooked smile. “He’s so strong; he picked me up as if I weighed nothing at all.” Her cheeks were pink. “Of course, the king’s bodyguards are handpicked warriors. They are all well-built men. But he’s… I could feel the raw power in him, Eile. He’s something special. It set me thinking…”

  Eile refrained from comment.

  “Oh, well,” sighed Breda, “it was an adventure, I suppose. I could do without the bruises. Bridei made me get straight back on a horse. Quite inconsiderate, I thought.”

  It was not up to her, Eile thought, to suggest to the princess of the Light Isles that it might be appropriate to express sorrow at the death of her handmaid or concern at the serious injury to a young man of the household. Often Breda seemed like a child of nine or ten, who believes the whole world centers on herself and acts accordingly.

  “I don’t suppose Bridei would have made you ride if it wasn’t safe,” Eile said. “He seems a very wise sort of person. I wonder why the horse did bolt. Did something startle it?”

  Breda shrugged. “How would I know? Everyone seems to think I’ve got the answers to everything; there’s been one person after another wanting to come in here and make me tell it over and over again. It was probably Cella’s stupid merlin flapping about. She never controlled the thing properly. It needs its neck wrung. Now, Eile. I have something to ask you. I think you can probably guess what it is.” The big blue eyes fixed themselves on Eile’s; the well-shaped brows arched above them.

  “I can’t imagine.”

  “Really? You disappoint me; I thought you were a clever girl. Well, I see I must set it all out for you. I know you’ve had a difficult time, so young and with a daughter to look after, and so far from home…”

  For one horrified moment, Eile wondered if Ana or Drustan had revealed some part of her history to this odd young woman; she herself had told nobody at White Hill of her origins, or how she had met Faolan, or the dark reason the king’s chief bodyguard more or less owned her. Then common sense asserted itself. Even Ana and Drustan didn’t know those things; Faolan had told them she’d had a bad time, that was all.

  “So I thought someone should give you an opportunity,” Breda went on. “A chance to make something better of yourself.”

  Eile waited. Breda seemed to be expecting her to guess. She was not sure she wanted to guess. I don’t need to make myself better. I’m fine just as I am. She held her tongue. Offend this willful young noblewoman and things were sure to go awry.

  “You really can’t guess? Well, Eile, with Cella gone I’m going to need another handmaid, aren’t I? I always keep five. You seem ideal for the position. It’s not a servant’s job, you understand; it’s somewhere between personal attendant, confidante, and friend. You’re young, you’re presentable without being too… You speak Gaelic, so I can talk to you without the others understanding. I see that as a strong point in your favor. And I like you already. You’re not scared to speak up. I hate those demure, quiet little girls, they’re such a bore.” Breda babbled to a halt, then looked at Eile, all expectation. It did not seem possible to answer with a bald refusal.

  “You’re forgetting,” Eile said, keeping her tone politely respectful. “I have Saraid to look after.”

  “The child? Oh, that’s no problem. There are heaps of servants here, and they like the little girl, she’s such a poppet. Anyone could watch over her. And when we get home there are plenty of folk to do it.”

  “When we get home?” Eile’s stomach dropped.

  “To the Light Isles, of course. I don’t think I’ll be staying here after all; I hate it. Just think, a whole new start for you. The place is full of lusty fishermen.” Breda’s grin seemed almost predatory. “We’ll have you married off within a season, mark my words. I’ve a talent for matchmaking. A new father for little… what’s her name again?”

  “Saraid. Thank you, Lady Breda, I’m… honored. But I can’t accept your offer.”

  A pause. The expression in the blue eyes changed. “What?” There was an edge in Breda’s tone now.

  “I don’t wish to offend you. The fact is, I couldn’t leave Saraid’s care to other people. Not all the time. She’s my daughter. I have to make sure she’s raised the right way. Kindly. Fairly. With love. So she learns how to live her life well.”

  “You’re not the only person who can do that.” Breda’s tone was crisp. “Most highborn children grow up seeing little of their mothers. Mine died when I was two. Then Ana went away. I had nobody.”

  Eile could have sworn she saw tears in Breda’s eyes. She bit back a remark along the lines of, And look how you turned out. “That’s very sad; I lost my own mother early, too. That is why I must be there for Saraid.”

  “But you’re still young!” exclaimed Breda. “Don’t you want to enjoy yourself before you get wrinkles and a pot belly and nobody will so much as look at you anymore? I bet the only man you ever lay with was this Faolan of yours. He’s the child’s father, yes? I have to point out that he seems in no hurry to come back here. Couldn’t care less, I’d say. You can’t waste what good years you have left on lullabies and nose wiping. Come on, Eile. This will be fun!”

  “The thing is,” Eile said, feeling suddenly as if she were swimming through something thick and ungiving, such as mutton-fat porridge, “I don’t look after Saraid myself just because I have to. I do it because I love her; because I want to. And I can’t go away. Not so far, across the sea and everything.”

  “Why not?”

  There was no good answer to this; none she was prepared to put into words. She could not claim Fortriu was home. The only family she had here
was Saraid. She could not claim she had a real position at White Hill, not with Drustan and Ana gone. The best she could hope for was to become one of the permanent team of nursemaids and attendants who helped Queen Tuala and watched over the royal children. However kind and friendly the king and queen of Fortriu might be to White Hill’s workers, that was indeed a servant’s position. “I can’t explain,” she said. “I just know we need to stay here, Saraid and I. For now, at least.”

  “I see.” Suddenly there was something frightening in Breda’s eyes, and Eile felt a shiver run through her.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, wishing profoundly that she were somewhere else. “Very sorry. I do understand how generous your offer is. Your sister was very kind to me, too. A lovely woman.”

  “Oh, Ana.” The tone was dismissive. “Well, Eile, you must go, I suppose. You’ll have important things to attend to. Picking up after little children and wiping their bottoms.”

  Eile managed a smile. “It’s not all hard work,” she said, getting up and smoothing the quilt. “It’s fun and laughter, too. Hugs and kisses and good times. You’ll change your mind when you have children of your own.” She could not for the life of her imagine this girl as a mother. Breda was more like a willful child.

  “Good-bye, Eile.” The words were coolly distant. “Thank you for coming to see me. I want to rest now.” Breda sank back on the pillows and closed her eyes.

  For a moment, Eile felt genuinely sorry for her. The girl had lost her mother early, then her sister. Perhaps there had been nobody to teach her; to ensure she grew up properly. Eile made a silent promise to herself that she would never, ever let that happen to Saraid. “Good-bye, Breda,” she said. “You understand, I just can’t say yes. I hope we can still be friends.”

  Breda’s big blue eyes snapped open, making Eile jump. Her mouth curved in a knowing little smile. “But of course,” she said. “Of course we will be friends.”

  THE CHILD WAS calling him. There was a catch in the little voice, as if tears were not far away; there was a pleading in the strange, light eyes. The druid saw the dear familiar face in every forest pool; he heard the words in the song of a thrush, the warble of a wren. Come home.