The Well of Shades

by Juliet Marillier

  “Other dress,” said Saraid. She had a little box of her own; it rested on the small table by the bed. She opened it and lifted out a minute pink gown and a length of silk ribbon. The twins clambered along the bed, craning to see.

  “Yes, of course, fetch Sorry’s things, too,” Elda told Saraid. “You’ll be sleeping in our chamber again tonight. Do you want your gray gown…?” Her voice faded while, in the background, the twins kept up a commentary on the pros and cons of Sorry’s wardrobe. Elda rose to her feet. She looked around the chamber. The story had got about quickly, spread by those girls who were attached to King Keother’s cousin. Eile had been seen going out. She’d actually been seen taking the king’s son beyond the gate and down the track toward Serpent Lake. It was difficult to believe; they’d have needed to travel fast to evade the search. They’d probably have had to go by boat, down the freezing waters of the lake. Yet there, hanging neatly on a peg, was Eile’s outdoor cloak. And there, placed precisely together in a corner, were Eile’s outdoor boots.

  Elda felt suddenly cold. “Saraid?” she asked. “Where is your warm cloak?”

  Saraid scrambled down from the bed and came over to point into a corner of the chest. There it was, tidily folded, a brown woollen garment Elda had seen many times before. “Of course. What about your boots?”

  Saraid looked down at the soft kidskin boots she was wearing, which were stained from their journey on the forest floor.

  “Not those, sweetheart, your big boots, the outside boots.”

  Saraid went to the bed, peered underneath, reached and drew out a pair of sturdy small boots in good leather. “Going outside?” she asked. Her voice was suddenly small and shaky.

  “No, Saraid, not now. It’s nearly suppertime. I just needed to know where to find them. Now, I’ve got your nightrobe and comb and a fresh gown for the morning. Gather up Sorry’s things and we’ll go and put them away in our chamber. I expect Papa will be home soon, boys. And Faolan.” She glanced at Saraid.

  “Feeler home.” The little girl spoke on a sigh.

  Thank the gods, Elda thought, that Garth would be back by suppertime, whether with good news or bad. It had been hard to take in the possibility that Eile was not what they’d thought her. Perhaps that was not because Eile had cleverly duped them all, but because it simply wasn’t true. Maybe she should go now, and let the king know what she’d discovered. She eyed the three children, Saraid pale and withdrawn, Gilder and Galen grubby from their adventures in the garden and starting to get fractious with hunger. They were in no fit state to go anywhere but into a bath and then straight to supper. Out in the hallway, she looked about for someone to call, someone who could take a message to the king, but there was nobody in sight. With a sigh, Elda headed back to her own quarters; this would have to wait.

  AT LAST A girl came out on her own, with a big ewer in her hands. She was short, dark, timid-looking; Bedo struggled to remember her name and got it just in time.

  “Cria,” he said, stepping out into her path and causing her to flinch in fright. “I need to ask you something.”

  “Oh—oh, no I can’t—I have to fetch water—”

  “It won’t take long. See this?” He had the jeweled pin ready; now he displayed it on his hand and saw her eyes widen. “Do you know who it belongs to?”

  Cria eyed him warily.

  “It’s important,” Bedo said.

  “Where did you find it?”

  “That doesn’t matter. I’ll return it to the owner, once I know who she is.”

  Cria lowered her eyes, hugging the ewer to her chest. “It’s Lady Breda’s,” she mumbled. “I can give it to her—”

  “No, that’s all right, I’d like to return it in person. Are you sure?”

  She flashed a glance at him, suddenly annoyed. “Yes, of course I’m sure. See that emblem, the sea beast? It’s a royal kin token in the islands. Breda’s the only woman here at White Hill who’s allowed to wear that, now her sister’s gone.”

  “I’ve got another question.”

  “I have to go. She gets angry if we’re late.”

  “Was Breda wearing this on the day of the hunt? The day Cella was killed?”

  The girl’s features tightened. Her eyes narrowed. “Why would you ask that?”

  “Why would the question frighten you?” Bedo countered. “You’re scared, aren’t you? It’s written all over you. I don’t mean you any harm. I need your help.”

  There was a silence. “This is about how she died, isn’t it? Cella?” Cria’s voice had changed. Her whisper was furtive, almost conspiratorial.

  “An innocent girl was killed. I broke my arm. I just want to find out what happened.”

  “It was an accident. A tragic accident. And it’s over now.”

  “In that case, it’s safe to answer my question.”

  “I’ve really got to go.” She glanced nervously back toward Breda’s door. “Yes, she was wearing it. But don’t say I was the one who told you.”

  “Why not?” He pretended bewilderment. “If it was an accident, I mean?”

  “Listen.” Cria took hold of his sleeve and drew him up the steps with her. “Keep walking. I need to go to the well up by the kitchen. It’s not just this, it’s all the time. If we don’t say what she tells us and keep quiet when we’re ordered to, we get punished. If she even saw me talking to you, I’d get a beating later. What happened that day—it’s not worth thinking about. Cella’s gone now. All the questions in the world won’t bring her back. And none of us is in a hurry to be next.”

  They were walking along the path to the well. Bedo’s heart had begun to race. “Why would she punish you for talking to me? And what do you mean, next? You can’t mean next to die?”

  “Shh! I shouldn’t have said anything. Leave me alone, you’ve got what you wanted and it’s nearly suppertime. I’m going to have to run.”

  “Tell me! What’s wrong with talking to me?”

  “She gets jealous. That’s what Cella’s offense was, talking to you.”

  “What? But Breda never even noticed me; she hasn’t the least interest in me. This can’t be true.”

  Cria gave a grim little smile. “She’s all mixed up. There’s no logic to what she does or who she takes a like or dislike to. Somehow she’s identified you as of interest, and that means nobody else touches you or looks at you or exchanges a word with you. She can change in an instant. Take that girl Eile. Breda liked her at first, but when she drew Dovran’s attention it was a different matter.”

  Bedo drew a shaky breath and released it. “Cria,” he said, trying to keep his tone calm and controlled as his father might in such a situation, “Eile’s gone, as you know. Disappeared with the king’s son. Might that be in any way connected with this other matter?”

  She looked miserable, like a wan moth caught in a trap. “I don’t know,” she said. “All I know is that if you offend Lady Breda, you pay the price. All of us were questioned about Eile and the child. We said what we’d been told to say.”

  “You mean you lied? You lied, even though a two-year-old had been missing overnight out in the woods?”

  “Haven’t you ever lied because you were terrified of what would happen if you told the truth?” Cria whispered.

  “I’d be more afraid, now, of what could happen if I kept on lying,” Bedo said, hearing the chill judgment in his own voice. “You and the other girls could have a child’s death on your conscience. Maybe Eile’s, too, depending on what’s happened to her.”

  “Eile’s a spy,” Cria said, setting her ewer on the rim of the well and reaching for the handle that turned the lifting mechanism. “Everyone says so. It was a kidnapping. Why would we care about her, when she wormed her way into King Bridei’s house and stole his son?”

  “You speak as if that were a certainty.” Bedo felt suddenly much older than he had this morning.

  “They were seen. And Eile’s a Gael. Nobody can argue with that, she never tried to hide it.”

&nb
sp; “Oh, that’s right,” Bedo said. “They were seen. Going out the gate, in full view. And yet, somehow, all the guards missed them. Really odd. But I understand that’s the story that’s going around.”

  Cria flushed, turning the handle to lift the bucket. “It was Breda who saw them, not us.” Her tone was defensive.

  “Cria,” Bedo said, “I know you need to get back quickly with that water. If I speak up later about this,” touching the pin, “and about yesterday and what Breda did or didn’t see, and did or didn’t ask you to say, will you back me up? Will you tell the truth?”

  “I can’t,” she muttered.

  “So you’d let an infant perish out there, all alone, because you’re afraid of a beating?”

  “I feel terrible about the little boy, but I don’t think I can do it.” Cria drew aside the neck of her tunic to reveal the start of a heavy welt across her shoulders. “She uses a strap with knots in it,” she said, her tone flat, resigned. “It hurts a lot.”

  Bedo had thought that, in this affair, he was past shocking, but he’d been wrong. “You should tell King Keother about this,” he said. “She must be stopped.”

  “She likes power. She has that here; we can’t go home. The more control she gets, the trickier her little games. I don’t want to end up like Cella.” The bucket reached the top of the well; she heaved it onto the rim, ready to fill the ewer.

  “Let me help you.”

  “With one arm?”

  “I can hold your jug, at least, while you pour.”

  “Bedo?” Her voice had shrunk to a conspiratorial whisper.

  “What?”

  “If you told everything, all of it, to King Keother and King Bridei, could you make her stop? You’re only young. They wouldn’t listen, would they?”

  Perhaps he had misjudged her. Her fear was no girlish fit of the vapors; it was real. “I will do my best to make them listen,” he said grimly. “And I will ask Keother to protect you and the other girls. I’ll do that whether you help me or not. I hope very much that you’ll change your mind. Cella deserves our best efforts. She deserves the truth.”

  The ewer was full. Cria picked it up and, with a glance over her shoulder, scurried off in the direction of Breda’s quarters. And here he was, heart thumping, blood rushing, not sure where to turn first. Should he take this straight to Bridei, or wait until his brother came back, adhering to their agreement to do this together? Uric had said Faolan would support them. Faolan would likely be back soon, along with Uric and the others. Bedo could hardly demand that the princess of the Light Isles be dragged out to answer his questions. He might be the son of Bridei’s chief war leader, but he was only fifteen years old, untried in the arena of battle or that of diplomacy. Even now, his case was heavily dependent on the word of others, on surmise and on guesswork. He wished his father were still at court. Common sense said wait until Uric got back and use what little time that allowed him to plan exactly what to say and how to say it. And pray that, by taking this brief delay, he was not adding himself to the list of those who had lengthened Derelei’s time alone out there, and increased the chance that he would perish before they found him.

  Gods, it was unthinkable. Bedo remembered Derelei’s grin of delight as they’d given him his first ride in the little cart they’d brought from Raven’s Well; the way his pale features had lit up when they’d shown him and the twins how to slide down a certain bank while sitting on a wooden tray. He recalled Derelei riding on his shoulders, pretending Bedo was a horse, while Galen sat atop Uric and they raced across the courtyard whinnying, with Gilder in pursuit. Derelei was only little. Whatever this new game was, it was the crudest thing in the world to make such a tiny child a pawn in it.

  IT HAD BEEN a fruitless, heartbreaking day. The dogs had picked up nothing at all. The search parties had scoured a wide expanse of land in all directions spreading out from White Hill, but no trace of infant or young woman had been found, and nobody in cottage or small settlement or farmhouse had seen them. At midday a messenger had come for Faolan, telling him about yesterday’s sighting of Eile and Derelei leaving White Hill quite openly through the gates. The messenger had made the mistake of advising Faolan that the king and his councillors thought this lent strength to the kidnapping theory, and Faolan had come perilously close to hitting the man. They were all on edge, short of sleep, knowing the more time passed without finding something, anything, the closer they were to having to acknowledge that the king’s son was probably dead.

  And Eile. Folk tended to mention her as an afterthought, as if she were only of interest because Derelei had vanished while in her care. It was another reason to be angry; another reason to lash out. Faolan held on to his temper, but only by a thread.

  Some of the men stayed out; they would snatch a few hours of rest at a temporary camp, then move on to search a new area at first light. Most returned to White Hill when dusk fell, the king’s bodyguards among them. Even Garth admitted he would have to get some real sleep to be able to go on in the morning.

  Faolan devised a roster that would allow other capable men, Aniel’s guard Eldrist and Tharan’s Imbeg, to stand in for Bridei’s personal guards so they could sleep more than a brief snatch. Dovran had been on duty almost continuously for two days and a night. It would be folly to let him go on.

  He set these arrangements in place while Garth went to the king with the news of another day’s unsuccessful search. Then Faolan made his way to Elda’s quarters, where the twins were being bathed in a large shallow tub before the hearth, while Saraid watched gravely from the pallet the children would share. The room was blissfully warm. Elda, sleeves rolled up, face flushed, was crouched awkwardly by the tub, scrubbing a twin’s back.

  “Faolan!” she exclaimed, looking up at him with a little frown. “Where’s Garth? Is he home?”

  “Reporting to the king. No news, I’m afraid.” His eyes were not on Elda and the boys. “I’ve just looked in to see how my girl is doing.”

  “She’s—”

  There was no need for Elda to finish. Dropping Sorry unceremoniously on the coverlet, Saraid flew across the chamber, dodging bath and kneeling woman, and straight into his arms where she clung as tightly as a young marten to its mother.

  “She’s been quiet,” Elda said. “Very quiet. I’d be happier if she shed tears; let some of it go, whatever it is. She hasn’t told me anything. I did try.”

  Faolan murmured to the child, stroking her hair, feeling how hard she held him, how tightly strung her small body was. “There, Squirrel, there. My good girl; my dear little one. I’m here, mo cridhe.” He felt the thunderous beating of his own heart; heard, in his mind, words he could not speak, not here, not now: my daughter. “If you want,” he said to Elda, “I will stay with her while you go to supper. It’s a lot for you to handle, the three of them all day.”

  “Good practice,” Elda said, helping one twin out of the bath and beginning to scrub the other. “I’ll have three of my own before the moon’s waxed and waned again. Faolan—”

  The door opened to admit a weary-looking Garth. His appearance was greeted by screams of delight from the twins.

  “Come here, Gilder, you’re dripping on the floor.” The big guard seized the nearest twin and began to dry him vigorously. In the general hubbub, Faolan could not make out what Elda was trying to tell him; something about cloaks and boots. After a certain time, Gilder and Galen were quieter. Faolan sat on the bed with Saraid on his knee and asked her to say it again.

  “Everyone’s talking about this sighting, Eile taking Derelei out the gates; everyone thinks it means she was placed here to abduct him, Faolan. I’m not talking about the usual silly gossip, the sort of thing that dies down as quickly as it springs up. After this, even Aniel and Tharan were expressing misgivings, wondering if they’d read the situation wrongly before.”

  “I got the message.” It still made him furious. “We searched the path to the lake with no success. A boat did leave late yesterday, but nobo
dy saw a woman and a child on it. This is a pernicious rumor. I hope you’re not giving it credence—”

  Saraid made a little sound and he realized how tightly he was holding her. “It’s all right, Squirrel. I was angry, but not with you. What has Sorry been doing today?”

  “Walking.” The tiny voice was doleful. “Getting clothes. Waiting.”

  “Faolan,” Elda said, “when I went to Eile’s chamber to fetch Saraid’s things, I noticed that Eile’s outdoor clothes were still there, her warm cloak and heavy boots. She’s only got the one set. She’d have worn them, surely, if she were taking Derelei right away from White Hill. Besides, the way I heard the story, Breda said she saw Eile wearing her outdoor clothes when she went out the gate. It doesn’t add up.”

  “Breda,” muttered Faolan, his mind putting a puzzle together in a number of different ways and liking each one less than the last. “You’re telling me it was Breda who came up with this tale of Eile walking out of White Hill deliberately? Who else saw them?”

  “I don’t know, Faolan. Maybe nobody. But Breda’s maids were talking about this as if it were fact, and the whole household picked it up.”

  His body was tense; his hands wanted to form fists, but he was holding Saraid and he forced himself calm. “Breda must be questioned again,” he said. “Now. Maybe we’ve been wrong; chasing a scent that doesn’t exist. Maybe Eile never left White Hill. Gods—”

  “Faolan,” said Garth, who was putting a little shirt on a wriggling twin while his wife dried the other, “Bridei was going straight into a meeting with Keother and the councillors, and after that it will be suppertime. You know what a burden the king’s carrying right now, with Tuala gone as well as his son. It’s been complicated still further. The Christians are here and demanding an audience, preferably with Broichan in attendance. Fola’s with Anfreda; she can’t quit that responsibility to take the druid’s place.”

  “Eile’s life could depend on this. It has to be now.”