Heart's Blood

by Juliet Marillier

  “Not proper? Not correct according to the rules of that world out there, the one we don’t live in?” I hated it when Anluan used that sharp, antagonistic voice. That he would address the loyal Magnus thus was terribly wrong.

  “It might seem improper to Caitrin, lad,” said Magnus quietly. “She didn’t grow up at Whistling Tor.”

  “Magnus,” Anluan said, “you can go.”

  With my eyes shut, I heard two sets of footsteps retreating, Magnus’s long stride, Olcan’s steady pace, and then silence save for the slight whistle of Fianchu’s breathing.The door closed.Anluan moved about the chamber for a little; I could not tell what he was doing. Eventually he drew the stool up to the bedside and sat down. In the silence that followed I counted my heartbeats and wondered what he was thinking. After what seemed a very long time, he took my hand, lifted it to his lips, then set it down again. I heard him let out a long breath, like a sigh.

  I opened my eyes and looked up into his. Summer lake blue; I could drown in that color.There was a difference in his face, as if the day’s events had stripped away a layer. He looked a new man. He had been strong at the council. Now he seemed . . .formidable. Before, we had spoken easily, like close friends. Now the gap between us yawned wide and deep, and in it lay the splintered vision of what could never be. I could think of nothing at all to say.

  “You’re awake.” His voice cracked on the simple statement. He cleared his throat and tried again. “Water. Let me get you some water, Caitrin.”

  As he went to fill a cup I reached for my shawl, then realized the ghost child was wrapped up in it.The chamber was full of little drafts.

  “You’re cold.” He was beside the bed, holding the cup.“You should be in a chamber with a fire, not up here.” He put the cup in my hand, then took off his cloak and laid it around my shoulders. His arm did not linger.

  “Thank you, Anluan.You must be tired. Magnus said it went well this morning, with the Norman emissaries.” My words sounded awkward, artificial, as if I were making polite conversation with someone I hardly knew.

  “So they’re telling me.” He moved to stand awkwardly by the wall. He looked as if he wanted to be somewhere else. “Caitrin, there’s something I must say to you. I need to do it before I . . .” He glanced at the sleeping Fianchu and the little spirit curled up beside him. “I need to do it right now.”

  Now I was really cold; chill to the bone. “Go on, then,” I said.

  “This morning I spoke words of challenge down in the settlement. I vowed that I would lead my people against anyone who tried to take our land and our independence. I committed myself and my household to action. Most likely that means armed conflict. I did what you challenged me to do, Caitrin. I acted like a chieftain.”

  “I know how much courage that took,” I said, but my voice was small amid the shadows of the chamber.The image in my mind, his hand smashing the mirror, his cruel visions of the man he could never be, did not fit with this grim-jawed stranger. There was a core of iron in his voice. “I always knew you could do it, Anluan. They will follow you, I’m sure of it—not only the host, but your people all over your territory. We’ll stand by you, whatever happens . . .” I faltered to a halt. He had turned to look at me, and what I saw in his eyes made it impossible to go on. “What?” I croaked. “What’s wrong? What is it you need to tell me?”

  “Caitrin, you can’t stay here. I want you to leave.”

  I couldn’t have heard right. “What did you say?” I whispered.

  “Your work is done here at Whistling Tor. You cannot stay any longer.”

  “But—” In my visions of the future, some less realistic than others, I had not once considered the possibility that I might leave before summer’s end.

  “You wanted me to be a leader. A leader makes decisions, and this one is made. There’s no point in arguing about it. I regret the inconvenience, but you must go as soon as possible. It will take a day or two to make some arrangements for you.”

  This was a bad dream, it couldn’t be happening. It made no sense at all. “What about the grimoires? What about the counterspell?” Even as I spoke, it dawned on me that he had been working up to this for some time. Magnus had said, There might be a few hard choices ahead. Rioghan had made a point of explaining my legal rights and taxing me with the idea of going home.They’d known, the two of them. Perhaps even Muirne had known. “I haven’t finished the job you hired me for!” I protested. “You said I had until the end of summer!” I love you; please don’t send me away.

  “We won’t discuss this any further, Caitrin. The search for a counterspell has been overtaken by the probability of war.The grimoires must be set aside until the question of Stephen de Courcy is resolved one way or another. There’s no longer any work for you at Whistling Tor. There’s no reason for you to be here.”

  “But, Anluan, even if there is no work, even if—”

  “No.” The word cut off my hopes with brutal sharpness. “I hired you for a job, Caitrin, and the job is done, as far as is possible.There is nothing else for you here.”

  “But . . . I had thought . . . I had hoped . . .” With the images from the shattered mirror in my mind, I struggled for a response. “Anluan, why—”

  “Don’t press me on this, Caitrin.”The tone was a warning.

  I sat motionless.This was no well-meaning attempt to send me out of harm’s way until the conflict was over. I would not be coming back in time of peace. He was banishing me forever.

  “You will be paid for the whole summer, of course,” he said, almost as an afterthought. “You’ll need funds to travel home.”

  “Home,” I said blankly. “Home.” Cillian slamming my head into the door frame, making my teeth rattle; Ita pinching the tender flesh of my breast, setting her own mark on me as she hissed vile insults. Myself cringing, trembling, silent. Helpless, voiceless, cowardly Caitrin. I drew a deep, steadying breath and felt anger come alight inside me, a small, hot flame. “Home?” I said, getting to my feet. “How dare you order me to go back to Market Cross, knowing Cillian is there? How dare you give me your trust and your friendship, and let me help you, and tell me . . .” Remembering the tender words, the gentle touches, I almost lost that fire. I’ve never met anyone like you, he’d said. His eyes had been soft then, soft with what I had foolishly thought might be the same feelings that had throbbed through my body as he held me. All I could see in those eyes now was cold determination.

  The flame flared up, hot and indignant, and with it came a flood of words, words that, before tonight, I would never have believed I could say to him.“How dare you! How dare you offer me payment, as if all I needed was a bag of silver to take away from here and a pat on the head for a job well done! How dare you take that arrogant tone with me, when you made me a friend! Is this the way you treat your friends, sending them back to a place where they’ll be beaten and abused and terrified? What kind of man does that?”

  His eyes darkened. His mouth tightened. He took a step towards me, bunching his left hand into a fist. I forced myself to keep still, holding his gaze. I will stand my ground. I will not flinch. I will never be cowardly Caitrin again.

  “There’s more of Nechtan in you than I thought,” I said.

  It was as if I had slapped him.The blood drained from his face, leaving him pale as winter. A single lock of fiery hair was hanging down over his brow; he pushed it back with some violence, then turned on his heel and strode to the door, where he paused with a hand against the frame, as if to steady himself.“You believe that of me.” He spoke with his back to me, his tone incredulous. “You think I would dispatch you back to Market Cross, into the arms of that—that vile oaf. Since your opinion of me is so low, you’ll be relieved that it’s Magnus making the arrangements: an escort to Whiteshore initially, then safe carriage to the place where your sister and her husband are staying.You are too free with your challenges, Caitrin.You ask much of me.And yet, you are afraid to face your own greatest challenge, the one that sent yo
u running up Whistling Tor and into my garden.”

  I opened my mouth to answer, but Anluan was gone into the night. He did not shut the door behind him; where the gallery was open to the outside I could see the dark field of the sky, sown with bright stars. Fianchu had lifted his head while we argued; now he gave a token growl and settled again. By his side the ghost child lay with eyes wide open, staring into the dark.

  chapter eleven

  After the careful watch that had been kept over me since the fire, the plan that had seen one friend after another come up to sit with me, now Anluan had left me alone save for the child and the hound. He had completely flouted his own rules. I was alone to sleep; alone to dream of Cillian and of demons. And then I must wait out a day, two days, an endless time until the so-called arrangements had been made for me. I had become a piece of baggage to be dispatched.

  It would be easy to give way to sorrow. I could wrap myself up in the blanket, howl my anguish, dream of what might have been. I could cling to every last moment I had at Whistling Tor, I could stay until the bitter end so I might drink in every last glimpse of the man I loved.That way lay madness. I would not go down that path a second time.

  I would not wait for anyone’s arrangements. Anluan wanted me to go. I would go, then. There was no guard on duty. The household was quiet. I would pack up my things and head off down the hill. At least that way I would not have to say goodbye to all my friends and have what was left of my heart shredded into little pieces.

  I did not weep. As Fianchu slept on and the ghost child lay preternaturally still, watching me between slitted lids, I slipped Anluan’s cloak off my shoulders and hung it neatly on a peg. I changed into the gown I had worn the day I first came to Whistling Tor. I folded the skirt made from the garments of Líoch and Emer and laid it on the foot of the bed. I rolled up Mella’s gray belt and set it on top. I’d have to keep the boots. There was no knowing how far I might need to walk. I packed my spare shift, my nightrobe, my second gown, my small personal items.A cold calm had come over me. Somewhere underneath it a wild creature raged, a hair-tearing, screaming banshee of a woman, but I would not release her until I was gone from here.

  No sign of Mother’s embroidered kerchief, though I knew it had been in the oak chest with a sprig of dried lavender between its folds. I looked for it under my pillow, under the pallet, amidst the bedding, on the shelf, but it was nowhere to be seen. I glanced at the ghost child, wondering if she had squirreled the pretty item away somewhere, but her narrowed eyes told me nothing save that she knew I was leaving her. I tucked Róise down the side of my bag. Emer’s russet gown joined the pile on the bed.

  My writing box stood next to the tray of untouched food. Anluan must have brought it up from the library. Already planning my departure. Before those visions in the mirror or after? I would not think of that. I lifted the box to fasten the strap more securely. It felt unusually heavy. I slipped off the strap and opened the lid.

  A small bag of kidskin lay on top of my carefully stowed materials. When I picked it up there was a jingling, metallic sound that made Fianchu prick up his ears. I carried the bag over to the lamp, loosened the drawstring, peered inside. Silver pieces. My earnings for a summer’s expert scribing. Enough to get me across country and support me while I found Maraid. Enough to ensure I need not sleep under haystacks and in the shelter of bridges; enough to stop men from thinking me easy prey as I traveled. Now, at last, tears stung my eyes: tears of humiliation. I wanted to scatter Anluan’s silver on the floor. I wanted to trample it under my feet. Common sense told me I must take it. The turbulent season at Whistling Tor had not driven out the memory of my flight from Market Cross. I never wanted to be that frightened, helpless woman again.

  The bag was packed.The box was fastened tight.The silver was hidden away in my pouch. I sat on the pallet listening to the night sounds from outside: an owl calling, another replying, a whisper of leaves, and perhaps a muttering voice from the courtyard as Rioghan made his nightly rounds, not going over the details of his old betrayal now, but planning ahead, devising ways to make the host into a workable fighting force. How could I slip away unseen if he was there? How could I get out without Fianchu raising the alarm? Doubts crowded into my mind, and with them came the pain. You’re like a beating heart . . . a glowing lamp . . . Why had his wretched mirror of might-have-been shown us together, as if that were one of his fondest dreams, if he’d already decided to send me away?

  Don’t forget me.

  I started. The mirror; the odd little mirror I had brought down from the north tower. I had heard its voice as if it had spoken aloud, though Fianchu had not stirred. I moved to the wall, peering into the tarnished surface, but all I saw was my shadowy reflection: a woman with red eyes and pasty skin, her dark hair rumpled, her brows creased in a frown.

  Take me.You’ll need me.

  I unhooked the mirror, lifted it down, opened the bag again.There was just enough room to slip it in.As I did so, I saw that there was another item I had forgotten: the little book I had made, with the translations of Irial’s sad marginal notes scribed in neat half-uncial. It lay on the shelf beside the lamp. I couldn’t take it away. It belonged at Whistling Tor; it was part of the sorry record of Anluan’s family and the curse that lay over them. I set the little notebook beside the lamp, its covers closed.

  How long should I wait? I must be well away before Magnus or Olcan or Anluan himself realized I was gone and came after me wanting to impose arrangements on me. If I had to go, I would do it by myself. But I must not go too soon or I might come to grief in the dark before I reached the invisible boundary that marked the end of the Tor. I must wait until the pre-dawn light made it possible to go without a lantern. Any artificial light would be spotted quickly by Rioghan or by one of the sentries on the wall. Suddenly, waiting seemed the hardest thing in the world to do.

  In my mind I wrote Anluan a letter along the lines of the sample I had made for him on my first day at Whistling Tor. I love you. I’m proud of what you’re doing. But you’ve hurt me. I don’t understand. That would be honest. Or I could write, In less than a turning of the moon it will be time to gather heart’s blood. But I will not be here. Goodbye, Anluan. We both lost the wager.

  I had not expected to get away without some challenges. First was the ghost child, who never slept. She had lain quite still watching my preparations, but when I finally judged the light was good enough and made for the door, my bag over my shoulder, my writing box under my arm, she was suddenly there by my side, clinging to my skirt, shadowy eyes turned on me.

  “I come with you.”

  Fianchu woke at the tiny sound, lifting his head.

  “Hush,” I whispered. “You must stay here; you can’t come with me.”

  “I come!” Louder this time. The dog, still slow from sleep, began to get up.

  I put down the box, took off the bag, dipped my hand down inside. I pulled out Róise. “I have to go away for a while,” I murmured, crouching beside the little girl.“I need you to stay here and look after her. Can you do that for me?”The deception was cruel, but I could see no other way.

  The ghost child took the doll in her arms, cradling her. She said nothing more, but the question was written on her face: When are you coming back?

  “I might be gone a long time,” I said. “I know you’ll do a good job with Róise. She needs someone to love her, just like all of us. Goodbye, little one.”

  Fianchu was on his feet now, ears pricked, stance alert.Very possibly, he understood enough to go bounding off and wake his master the moment I went out the door.

  “Fianchu,” I said, making sure I had his full attention. “Guard her.” I pointed to the ghost girl. “Stay here and guard her!”

  Fianchu sat. His little eyes, fixed on me, were entirely knowing. But he was a dog and it was his job to obey.

  “Good boy. Stay here until the sun’s up.You too,” I told the girl. “He will look after you.”

  I crept out the door
, along the gallery, down the steps. Shades of gray inhabited the garden; eyes watched me from under the dark trees. Across the courtyard, a lamp still burned in Anluan’s quarters. The mad woman inside me stirred—go to him, run to him, now, now—but I quashed her pleas. I walked down the path, out the gap in the fortress wall, into the forest.

  Nobody came after me. I pictured the ghost child in the bedchamber, the doll pressed to her skinny chest. I imagined I could see in her eyes the pain of yet another betrayal, another abandonment.

  My thoughts showed me Anluan, alone in his quarters, staring empty-eyed at the wall, or seated on his bed with his head in his hands, long fingers threaded through his fiery locks. Foolish imaginings. More likely he was working out how to form an army from wayward specters, untrained villagers and reluctant neighbors. Perhaps, now that he had dealt with me, he had put me right out of his mind.

  My foot hit a stone. My hands tightened on the writing box. I teetered a moment, then regained my balance. It was not yet light; the woods were full of shifting shadows. As I went on down the track, I felt a tug on my left arm; a tweak at my right shoulder. A whisper in my ear: Wrong, all wrong . . . Poor silly girl, what were you thinking? And on the other side: Wretched Caitrin, sorrowful girl . . . Who wants you? Where can you go? Where can you be safe now?

  A pox on the wretched creatures, whatever they were. I would leave. I would find somewhere to go. I did not belong at Whistling Tor. I should never have let myself see it as home. A fool. A cursed fool of a woman.

  Oh yes, a cursed fool . . .You cannot stay here.You cannot go home. He’s there, the one who turns you into a helpless child. Poor lonely Caitrin. Nowhere to go, no one to love you . . .

  I swatted at the unseen presence by my right ear. The other spoke by my left.

  Come this way, down this little winding path . . .

  Come with us! Follow us . . .You will be safe forever . . .