Son of the Shadows (22 page)

to flicker in the lamplight, as if preparing to strike.

"Well, Jenny did as she'd been bidden. At midnight on the full moon, she waited alone at the crossroads in her homespun gown and sensible boots, with a dark, hooded cloak concealing her bright hair. Like a little shadow in the moonlight she waited. Around her neck she had wrapped the red scarf that had been his. And they came; a long glittering cavalcade of riders, the horses all white, the gowns and tunics beaded and jeweled, the hair dressed long and wild with sparkling gems and strange leaves braided into its silvery flow. The fairy queen rode in the middle, tall, regal, her skin pale as milk, her hair a glorious glossy auburn, her dress cut low to show the elegant curves of her figure. Behind her rode Tom the smith, his gray eyes distant, his once merry face an expressionless mask. He wore a strange tunic and leggings of silver and boots of softest kidskin. Jenny was filled with fury, but she stood still and silent until the queen reached the very center of the crossroads, until her Tom was just before her within easy reach.

Then, quick as a flash, she darted out and seized his hand, and she pulled as hard as she could, and he tumbled down from his horse and sprawled at her feet on the white path.

"There was a hiss of outrage from the fairy folk, and in a trice they had circled their horses around her and poor Tom, and there was no getting away. The fairy queen's voice was terrible to hear, both sweet and deadly in its fury. 'You!' she spat. 'What are you playing at? Who put you up to this? This man is mine! Take your filthy mortal hands off him! No woman challenges me!' But Jenny held on, while Tom sat at her feet in a daze, and she stared at the beautiful creature on the white horse and spoke defiance with her eyes. Then the fairy laughed a dreadful laugh, and she said, 'We shall at least have some sport from this. Let us see how long you can hold on, farm girl! You think yourself strong? How little mortals comprehend.'

"At first Jenny hardly knew what she meant, for Tom's hand was limp and passive in hers. Then all at once the fingers changed to razor-sharp claws and the flesh to rough hair; and instead of a man, she held the leg of a great, slavering wolf that opened its jaws and bared its long, sharp teeth at her. Jenny flinched in terror, with the creature's rancid breath on her face and its strong body thrashing and straining against the grip of her hands. But she wound her fingers into the wolf's long hair and she held on and held on as the creature dragged her across the path. She felt the white gravel tearing at her gown and at her skin.

There was a murmur from the circle of watchers; and a single word was spoken in a strange
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tongue.

Then the rough hair changed to a smooth, slippery surface that made her almost let go, it was so hard to grip. There was a swelling and coiling, and now, instead of a great wolf, she held a massive, sleek serpent with scales the color of jewels from deep in the earth, a monster that writhed and swirled and sought to wrap her tight in the coils of its immense body. To keep hold, Jenny was obliged to embrace this creature within the circle of her arms, and lock her hands together, pressing her face against the cold scales of its body, willing herself not to faint with terror as the small, evil head darted down toward her again and again, the forked tongue flicking close to her eyes. 'This is Tom,' she told herself, her heart thudding like a drum. 'This is my sweetheart. I will hold on. I will. He is mine.'

"Another word fell into the moonlight silence. The snake became a huge spider, a hairy, bristling creature with many-faceted eyes and thick legs that curled around the hapless girl. Its venomous fangs probed toward her where she clutched its leg, the spines of its body piercing her flesh until she put her teeth through her lip to keep from screaming. After the spider came a boar with yellow tusks and tiny, mindless eyes; and after the boar a strange creature whose name she did not know, with long, snapping jaws and a gnarled, knobbled skin. Still Jenny held on, though her poor hands were bleeding and would scarce obey her will, so cramped were they. Once she looked up, and she thought she could see the smallest lightening of the night sky. The folk around her were very quiet. Then the fairy queen laughed again. 'Not bad, not bad at all! You've given us some fine sport. Now we must be off. I'll have my boy back, if you'll be so good as to release him.' She gave an imperious sweep of the hand, and Jenny felt her shoulders pierced as with a hundred sharp knives, and she almost let go. There was a flapping of great, dark wings, and in her hands was the foot of a gigantic bird, its beak as large as a horse's head, its claws flexing as it sought to break her grip. The other foot had closed about her arm and shoulder, and the monstrous creature jumped and flapped and squawked, and stabbed with its deadly beak to the right and to the left, trying to dislodge her. There was a tinkling of fairy laughter.

'This is my man,' Jenny whispered to herself.

'I love him. She shall not have him. I will not let go.' And fight as the great bird might, it could not break free of her hold. Then all at once there was a rustling and a sighing, and the delicate clatter of many hooves; and as the first light of dawn turned the edges of the world to silver, the fairy folk were gone like wisps of mist, and there in her arms was her sweetheart, limp as if dead, his shining clothes turning to plain gray as the sky lightened. 'Tom,' she whispered, 'Tom.' She hadn't the strength to say more. After a while she felt him move and slip his arms around her waist, and he laid his head on her breast, and he murmured, 'Where are we? What happened?'

Then Jenny took off the red scarf and wound it around her sweetheart's neck, and she helped him to his feet with her bleeding, damaged hands. They put an arm around each other; and as the sun rose on a perfect day, they walked slowly homeward. And, though the tale does not tell it, I should think they had a good life together, for they were two halves of the one whole."

Around me, there was a collective release of breath. Nobody said anything. After a little the men moved away and settled to rest as well as they could on the hard ground. There would be no privacy here. I

dimmed the lantern as low as it would go, and made ready to sleep, fully clothed as I was. I might at least take off my boots. But when I bent to unlace them, I found I was so tired my fingers would not obey me, so tired I was on the verge of weeping over everything and nothing.

A curse on them all. It would have been so much easier to hate them, as Eamonn did.

"Here." Dog was kneeling by me, his big hands delicate as they unfastened the laces and drew the boots off my feet. "Such little feet you've got."

I nodded thanks, aware of eyes fixed on us from across the chamber. It was almost dark. I heard a tiny, snipping noise and then something smooth and sharp was slipped into my hand, and
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Dog's large, lumbering form retreated back into the shadows. As I lay down and felt deep weariness overwhelm me, I

slipped the wolf claw into my pocket. These were hired killers. Why should it matter to me what became of them? Why couldn't life be simple, the way it was in the tales? Why couldn't... I dropped into a deep, dreamless sleep.

I blinked, once, twice. Light was streaming in through the entranceway. It was morning. I sat up.

The chamber was empty, the floor bare, all sign of human habitation gone. All but my blanket and my small pack and the tools of my trade, and the smith lying asleep near me, his breath difficult.

I looked around again. Nothing. They were gone, all of them. They had left me to deal with this alone.

Don't panic, Liadan, I said to myself as my heart began to thump. There would be limited time before

Evan awoke and needed me. So, find a source of water. See if it was possible to make a fire.

Beyond that, there could be no planning.

There was a small bowl and a bucket by my pack. With these in hand, I made my way out through the narrow entry, screwing up my eyes as I emerged into a glorious summer morning.

"There's a stream at the northern end of the mound, and a pool where you can wash."

li

He had his back to me, and a bow over the shoulder. Nonetheless, the shaven head and bizarre, decorated skin made his identity instantly plain. My shock and resentment were almost as strong as my relief, and I spoke incautiously.

"You! You are the last man I expected to find here."

"You'd have preferred another?" he queried, as he turned toward me. "One who would flatter you and speak sweet words?"

"Don't talk rubbish!" I was determined not to let slip that I had believed myself alone. I would show him no sign of fear. "I prefer none of you. Why are you not with your men? They look to you for leadership:

the chief, almost godlike. I cannot understand how you could send them on this mission and remain behind. Any of them could have been left here to guard me."

He narrowed his eyes at me. The morning sun threw the light and dark of his patterned features into harsh relief.

"There's not a single one of them I would trust for this job," Bran said. "I saw the way they watched you."

"I don't believe you." This was nonsense.

"Besides," he added casually, stowing away the bow in a crevice between the rocks, "it's good training.

They must learn to deal with the unexpected, to assume command instantly if they must, and not to question. They must learn to be always ready. There are other leaders among them. They will accept this challenge."

"How—how long will they be gone?"

"Long enough."

Since I could think of no more to say to him, I went off to find the stream, to wash my face and hands and fetch water for my patient. There was a still pool between the rocks, and as I dipped the bucket I

half imagined I saw my sister there, waist deep, locked in her lover's arms, her fiery hair flowing about her white body. Poor lovely Niamh. I had scarce given her a moment's thought since I bade her farewell.

She would be settling in at Tirconnell by now, learning to cope with her new life among
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strangers. I

shivered. I could not imagine living away from Sevenwaters, away from all that was so much a part of me. Maybe, if you cared enough about someone, you could do it and not feel your spirit torn in two. But the forest keeps her hold on all those who are born there, and they cannot travel far without the yearning in them to return. In my heart I feared for my sister. As for Ciaran, there was no telling what path he had taken.

The day unfolded. Evan was in pain, sweating, retching, and babbling nonsense. Bran would appear and disappear, saying little, helping me lift and turn the smith, heating water, doing whatever I asked. I was forced to admit, grudgingly, that he was quite useful. Once, when Evan lay quiet, he called me outside, made me sit down, and gave me a platter of stew and dry bread and a cup of ale.

"Don't look so surprised," he said, settling on the ground opposite me and starting on his own meal. "You must eat. And there is nobody else to provide for you." I said nothing.

"Or maybe you believe you could have managed this task alone? Is that it? The little healer girl, worker of miracles. You did not imagine we would leave you here on your own, did you?"

I did not look at him, concentrating instead on the stew, which was remarkably good. The bow must be for hunting.

"You did believe it," he said incredulously, "that we had gone on and left you out here alone with a dying man. You must think us little better than savages."

"Isn't that what you want?" I challenged, looking direct at him now and glimpsing for an instant a rather different expression in his gray eyes before he turned them away. "The Painted Man, a creature who inspires terror and awe? A man who can, and will, do almost anything if you pay him well enough? A

man without conscience? Why should such a man have second thoughts about leaving a woman on her own, especially when he seems to despise the female sex so utterly?"

He opened his mouth, thought better of what he was about to say, and closed it again.

"Why do you hate us so much? What woman let you down so badly that you must take it out on the whole of our kind for the rest of your life? You bear such resentment. It eats you from the inside like a canker. You would be a fool to let this destroy you. That would be a terrible waste.

What happened to make you so bitter?"

"None of your business."

"I'm making it my business," I said firmly. "It was your choice to stay here, and you will listen.

You heard my tale of the farmer's daughter, Jenny. Maybe it was true, and maybe it wasn't. But there are many fine, strong women such as her in the world, as well as those less admirable. We are human like you, and each of us different. You see the world through the shadow of your own hurt, and you judge unfairly."

"Not so." His features had a pinched look, and the eyes were distant. I began to regret speaking so boldly. "It was a woman's guile and her power over a man that robbed me of both family and birthright. It was a woman's selfishness and a man's weakness for her that set me on this path, that made me the creature you so despise. Women are spoilers. A man should beware not to get too close and be caught in the net."

"But I am a woman," I said, after a while. "I do not—entrap, seduce, or commit acts of evil. I speak my mind, but there's nothing wrong with that. I refuse to be categorized as a—what was the word? A

spoiler? My mother has been my example. She is fragile, but strong. She knows nothing but giving. My sister is beautiful and completely without guile."

"You're crying."

"I am not!" I scrubbed an angry hand across my cheek. "All I'm saying is, you must have encountered very few women to cling to this narrow view."

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"For you, perhaps, I might make an exception," he said grudgingly. "You are not so easily classified."

"You think me more akin to a man?"

"Hah!" I could not tell if this sound indicated amusement or scorn. "Hardly. But you show some qualities I