The Dark Mirror (20 page)

There were several. For Bridei, I
miss you. I miss the stories
. For Broichan,
I want to come home
. Neither
could be sent. Balancing the little cat with one hand, Tuala reached into the pouch at her belt and brought out a scrap of
ribbon that had once been blue-dyed, but now was faded beyond color. Her hair had already come quite unplaited and hung wild about her shoulders.

“Could you give this to Bridei? Not when Broichan’s there, he wouldn’t like me to send messages.”

“Just give it to him?”

“And
tell him I’m happy here.”

“You would send this friend a message that is a lie?” Fola asked. All at once she seemed taller, and her expression was stern, almost as stern as Broichan’s.

Tuala said nothing. Against her breast, the kitten felt warm and comforting; its purring was vibrating through its whole body and into hers.

“You’re not happy at all; one look at you and your friend could see
that,” Fola said. “You don’t want to be here, you want to be home. You don’t want to cook and sew, you want to be a scholar. Why say things are other than they are?”

“I don’t want him to worry about me,” Tuala said gravely. “Just because I’m sad, there’s no need for him to be sad too. And . . .” No, this she would hold back at all costs. She must not tell of her promise to Broichan, the promise
on whose keeping depended her whole future at Pitnochie.

“Very well,” said the wise woman, slipping the ribbon away and hoisting her pack onto her back. “I’ll tell him I’ve seen you, and that you said to say you’re thinking of him and looking forward to coming home. A compromise, and honest. I don’t convey messages that are untrue.”

“Thank you,” Tuala said as Fola bent to pick up a staff that
had been lying unnoticed among the oak roots. She noticed the way the length of willow rose of itself to settle in the wise woman’s hand. “Thank you for the cat and thank you for the message. I’m sorry I . . .” She trailed off, unsure how to put her thoughts into words.

“Sorry you mistrusted me? Sorry you thought me other than what I was? Don’t apologize for that, Tuala. A little caution is always
wise. Besides, I, too, was mistaken in my first impressions of you. Look after that creature well. It’s a rare one, and may stand you in good stead one day. Farewell now. May the Shining One light your way, child.”

“May Bone Mother hold you in her hands,” Tuala replied. The pattern of the ancient farewells was one of the very first things Bridei had taught her.

Fola smiled. “I hope we’ll meet
again some day”

“Me too,” Tuala whispered, knowing how unlikely that was while her future lay in Broichan’s hands. The kitten wriggled; she glanced down, stroking its tiny head with her fingers, and when she looked back up, the wise woman had vanished as if she were no more than a dream.

FROM HIGH IN
the branches of the
oak, two pairs of eyes had looked down on this exchange with keen interest. One pair was luminous, liquid, the owner silver-haired, cobweb-gowned, and unmistakably female. The other eyes were round and nut-brown, those of a red-cheeked lad whose form was wreathed in leafy creepers and fronds of fern. Neither was of human kind.

“She grows apace,” the girl remarked. “She is strong, clever, and
wise, as we should expect.”

“This meeting was fortuitous,” commented the boy “It could be used, later. A time will come when the druid’s fear of this child’s influence will outweigh his loyalty to the Shining One. And the wise woman wants the girl. She sees her strength and recognizes her potential.”

“You go too fast,” the girl said with a toss of her shining hair. “Tuala is an infant yet, Bridei
himself still a child. Each must be tested long and rigorously The calling that awaits the boy demands the highest self-discipline, the deepest devotion to the gods and, more significant still, the ability to make his own decisions. To trust his own judgment.”

“Tuala’s part in it will be every bit as difficult,” said the boy. “She’s unhappy Already she is set a test, and not by us.”

“This?”
the girl scoffed. “A little trip away from home in the company of a kindly nursemaid? Don’t be so soft! Wait until this scrap of a thing reaches womanhood; then we will really test her. Bridei must prove worthy of the Shining One’s trust; Tuala must equal him in strength. Each faces trials. They have been chosen, and the goddess expects no less.”

The boy was silent awhile, swinging his legs as
he perched on a high bough of the tree. Far below, Tuala sat cross-legged with the little cat on her knee, a tiny figure between the gnarled oak roots. “Mm,” he murmured. “There will come a time when Broichan will send her away again, and there will be no coming back. When he is dying, the druid will weep hot tears for that.”

The girl flashed her pale eyes at him. “You think him so blind?”

“He is blind in this one particular. His mind is all on Bridei; on the task of preparation.”

“Just as well,” the girl said. “There is not so very much time for that. Come! No need for us to linger here. Tuala will return to the woods; to the secret places. She cannot but do so. They are in her blood, as in ours. We can use that to our advantage. The call of kinship is our key to proving her strength.”

“Maybe,” said the boy, with a last look downward. The small figure was making her way back toward the hollies, her new treasure cradled carefully in her arms.

“Come!” the girl cried again, and with a flash and a snap of silvery wings the messengers of the Shining One were gone.

S
O, WE ARE GATHERED
at last,” Broichan said. The five of them were in his chamber, with Aniel’s man Breth on the other side of the door and the household quiet beyond. Outside, the moon shone on a summer night of murmuring birds and soft breezes; the Shining One was yet a day or two from her perfect fullness, but the solstice was almost upon them. Tonight the air of the druid’s sanctum was heavy
with conspiracy. They had waited long for such a council.

“Indeed.” Aniel was seated at the oak table and had a parchment, goose quill, and ink pot before him. “And best make the most of this opportunity, for there’s no doubt I, for one, am watched by my adversaries, and I know the same goes for Broichan. Should the least hint of our meeting reach the wrong ears, the entire venture could be in
jeopardy and years of effort wasted. I still say this might better have been done openly from a far earlier stage, perhaps at court, with King Drust’s public support.”

“We know you’re of that opinion, Aniel.” Fola stood before the fire, her slight, upright figure outlined by flames. The withering look in her dark eyes was one she had often used to devastating effect on her more recalcitrant students.
“If you believe your own words, you won’t waste time going over the way things might have been, but focus on the present and the future. Nor
do you and Broichan have a monopoly on risk, I assure you. I am, after all, a teacher of the daughters of the powerful. Now tell me. I haven’t had a chance to meet the lad yet, being late come. Give me your verdict, if you’ve reached one. Is Broichan’s smug
look justified?”

“Fola the forthright.” Talorgen chuckled. “Speaking for myself, I like what I’ve seen of young Bridei. Already he speaks like a grown man, fluently and with prudence. He’s knowledgeable and not afraid to engage in debate, but he knows his limitations. And he’s uncommonly skilled with a bow.”

Aniel gave a wintry smile. “He knows when to win and when to lose,” he said. “In time,
I believe he will have the capacity to win the hearts of men. He’s young yet; the maturity of his manner is deceptive. The lessons of the next few years must be harder. The decisions of his adulthood will tax him severely; he must develop the fortitude to make them without flinching.”

Outside, a hunting bird gave a high, echoing call as it flew by over the forest. The fire sputtered, and Fola
moved aside to let its heat reach the men, for even on this summer night the air in Broichan’s chamber was chill.

“Uist?” Fola raised her brows in question.

The old druid stood by the window, staring out through the narrow slit as if he could only survive if some part of him, at least, were still free from the confines of human habitation, of stone and thatch. When he turned back toward them,
his eyes were vague and unfocused.

“It’s a hard journey for a good boy,” he said quietly. “A road of many twists and turns, of knives in the back, of false friends and disloyal allies. Simple honesty, nobility of purpose, wit and compassion will carry him a certain distance. The lad knows the ancient powers, loves and respects them. Men will honor him for that. They’ll flock to follow him. That
should please you; it’ll give us the result we’ve planned for all these years. But Bridei will pay a price. I see a choice ahead for him that would break the strongest man in all Fortriu. Remember that, for when it comes he’ll need every friend he’s ever had.” Uist turned back to the window; a shower of small particles dislodged itself from his clothing, falling to the well-swept floor of the chamber.

“My foster son will be strong enough for any choice.” Broichan’s voice was deep and sure. Uist made no reply.

After a little, the chieftain Talorgen spoke once more. “Midsummer will be a test. The gods may show us whether the boy is worthy of the future we intend for him. There will be many claimants when the time comes. If we are
certain Bridei is the one, we must plan for what comes next. His
upbringing has been sound, that much is obvious in every word he speaks. But the lad needs further opportunities now—”

“His education is in my hands.” Broichan’s tone allowed no challenge. “We agreed to that when we made the decision to take this path. What opportunities are presented to Bridei, and when, are for me to determine.”

“Talorgen has a point,” Aniel said, fixing his gaze on Broichan.
“You’ve kept the lad hidden here long enough, and you’re beginning to sound as if this is a personal quest of your own. We are a council of five. None of us should lose sight of that. We share responsibility for this; we share the good or ill consequences of our scheme, and as a team we provide our own checks and balances. The boy must learn to think for himself. Donal tells me Bridei has never
been down to the settlements, nor along the lake, nor to the homes of other lads of like age and breeding. He’ll need that if he’s to be a leader of men. It’s not a druid you’re educating here, my friend, but a king.”

The word hung in the silence, full of hope and of danger.

“Besides,” put in Fola briskly, “he’ll need to be seen at court sometime. If not yet, then most certainly in the next
few years. Before too long he must be made known to Drust. Winning the king’s favor now can only strengthen Bridei’s chances later. There are other young men with closer ties of royal kinship, Carnach of Thorn Bend for one. We’ll get nowhere with a candidate who is unknown, however apt he may be.”

“Come,” Broichan said, “let us sit down and share this mead. And give me your honest opinion.” It
was the king’s councillor he watched, Aniel of the cautious eyes and guarded expression. “How long do we have? Another five years? Seven?”

Aniel cleared his throat. “One must hope for that at least,” he said, “or this boy, likely as he is, will simply be too young. The king’s health is no better than reasonable; he’s susceptible to winter chills and finds it hard to catch his breath. Still, barring
anything untoward, he may see another seven years. More, if the gods smile on us.”

“We must all pray for that,” said Fola. She turned her shrewd gaze on Broichan, who met it with his own, dark and inscrutable. “Drust needs you at court, old friend,” the wise woman went on. “He misses your wise judgment, your faultless counsel.”

“There are others to guide him,” Broichan said crisply. “Aniel among
them; who better qualified? Drust can manage without me.”

“He’d have a better chance of keeping the factions under control and making some real progress on the western front if he had you by his side,” Aniel observed. “He trusts you; he always did, for he knows your power to be god-given. Me, he merely tolerates.”

“Then you must work to change his attitude.” There was a touch of sharpness in
Broichan’s tone now, and Aniel’s mouth tightened. “I swore fifteen years of my life to this task, and fifteen years I will give, more if I must, to see it through. Drust’s anxieties are one thing. We speak tonight of the future of Fortriu; of the very survival of our people.”