The Well of Shades (30 page)

Thus, when there came a day on which
the air seemed a touch warmer and the wind a little less biting, the queen sent a messenger to Fola at Banmerren, requesting the wise woman’s presence at court as soon as convenient. The official reason was the imminent arrival of the king’s second child. Banmerren could furnish midwives, since this was a function the healer priestesses of the Shining One performed regularly in their neighborhood.
Fola knew Broichan better than almost anyone now living, and she would understand that Tuala needed counsel as well as midwifery.

It was still too cold for the children to be long outdoors. The three little boys, Garth’s twins Galen and Gilder, with Derelei, had taken to running along the passageways of White Hill at top speed, hurtling up and down stairs, barreling into anyone who might be in
the way and erupting into ear-splitting squeals of overwrought laughter at the least provocation. The nursemaids were tearing out their hair. Garth’s wife, Elda, who was expecting another child herself, could be heard lecturing her sons from time to time, after which all would be quiet for a little before mayhem broke out again. Derelei tended to have scraped knees and bruises on his arms and legs,
and a wildness in his eye that Tuala did not much care for. Whenever she could, she took him to play with Ban in the garden, or to watch the men at wrestling games in the hall. But Derelei’s restlessness went beyond
the forced inactivity of winter. Tuala wondered if Broichan had been right when he had first raised the subject of the child’s special talents. Perhaps her son should be sent away,
baby as he was. Perhaps he did belong with the druids of the deep forest, who could tutor him with wise discipline, free from distractions. Her heart quailed at the prospect.

Help for the immediate problem came in an unlikely form. The warrior chieftain of Raven’s Well, Talorgen, was both old friend and trusted supporter of Bridei and had recently arrived at White Hill with his two sons. One
morning, Bedo and Uric came to see Tuala in her private apartment. The inquisitive lads she had known when they were seven or eight and she a shy thirteen had now grown into lanky, red-haired young men with grins every bit as disarming as Talorgen’s own.

“Bedo, Uric, how good to see you! I would say, ‘How you’ve grown,’ but I’m sure you must be tired of hearing that. Is your stepmother here,
too?”

“Yes, Brethana came. She didn’t really want to, but Father said she’d like court when she got used to it.” Bedo, the elder of the two, came into the chamber and, at Tuala’s nod, seated himself by the fire. His brother leaned on the chimney piece, a picture of studied nonchalance.

“I’ll look forward to meeting her when she’s got over the journey,” Tuala said. “It’s good to see your father
so happy.” Talorgen had recently remarried; the story of his first wife was not aired in public. Dreseida had been set aside by her husband and banished from Fortriu over a plot to put her own eldest son on the throne in place of Bridei. That son, Gartnait, had died in the strange course of dark events that followed. It had been largely through the courageous intervention of Tuala’s close friend
Ferada, Talorgen’s daughter, that Bridei had survived to become king. “I’m hoping your sister will be here at court soon,” Tuala said. “I’ve invited her to keep me company when the baby’s born.”

“Ferada hates babies,” Bedo said with a grin. “You’ll
be doing well if you can prize her away from her new project. Everyone’s talking about it; the first secular school for women in all Fortriu. Trust
my sister to take on something nobody else would touch. She misses bossing me and Uric around, you realize, that’s the only reason she’s doing it.”

At that moment there was a roar of children’s voices outside the door, and a sound of running footsteps accompanied by hysterical barking.

“Derelei!” Tuala’s tone was unusually sharp; she was feeling queasy and uncomfortable today, and it didn’t
help to be constantly worried about her son either bothering folk or managing to hurt himself again.

“Mine!” a twin shouted, beyond the door.

“No, mine!”

“Is not! Give it to me!”

A wail: Derelei. He still had few words, and this made it difficult for him to hold his own with the twins, a year older and not only bigger but much more fluent.

A scream. Tuala was on her feet and wrenching the
door open before she could think, for the sound had indicated utter dread. She stepped into the hall, Uric and Bedo at her shoulders.

Derelei was standing with his back to the wall and his hands outstretched in front of him. Opposite him, pressed against the other wall, was Gilder, preternaturally still and very red in the face. He couldn’t move; his eyes were terrified. The screams came from
Galen, who stood a little way off, a straw-packed leather ball in his small hands. Ban stood stiff-legged, his barks escalating.

“Derelei, no!” Tuala snapped, her heart thumping.

Derelei moved his hands, closing them into loose fists. Gilder’s rigid form relaxed; he fell to the flagstones, a sob of fright breaking from his lips. Tuala stepped forward.

“Doggy,” said Derelei calmly, and in an
instant Gilder had disappeared, and there were two dogs in the hallway.
It was as if Ban had spawned a twin. There was no telling them apart. A new frenzy of barking broke out as they circled each other, hackles up. Galen had wisely backed away, still clutching the ball.

Uric gave a long, slow whistle.

“Holy hailstones,” said Bedo in what seemed to be awe.

“Derelei!” Tuala’s voice was close
to a shout. “Bring Gilder back! Now!”

Perhaps she had been too angry. Derelei looked up at her. His mouth crumpled; his eyes brimmed with tears. At once, he seemed no more than an overtired two-year-old. It was unusual for Tuala to reprimand him; he was always so good.

“Do it now, Derelei. No doggy. Bring boy back.”

“Ball,” Derelei said tremulously, glancing at the other twin, who hugged the
disputed item to his chest.

It would be an easy matter to take the ball and give it to her son. The less Bedo and Uric saw here, the better. But she could not allow that; Derelei must not learn that he could use magic to get his own way.

“No,” said Tuala. “You can’t have the ball. Derelei, bring Gilder back.”

Derelei brushed past her and went into her chamber, where he could be seen retreating
to crouch under the table. Uric bent down to separate the two dogs, which were snapping at each other in preparation for a serious encounter. Bedo had picked up the frightened Galen and moved him out of harm’s way.

Someone was approaching; Tuala could hear voices, probably Elda in search of the twins. “Ban!” she ordered crisply. “Sit!”

After a moment’s hesitation, one dog lowered its rump obediently
to the floor, a resentful growl still issuing from its mouth. Uric grasped the other by the scruff of the neck, wincing as the snapping teeth came close to removing a finger.

This had better work. Tuala pointed in the small dog’s direction, closed her eyes, and whispered a few words. There was a moment’s hushed silence, then an ear-splitting wail. As Elda and a maidservant came around a turn
of the hallway, Uric crouched down beside the hysterical Gilder, holding him firmly by the arms.

“You’re all right,” he said. “You’re not hurt. Be a man.”

“What’s wrong? What have they been up to this time?” Elda sounded as exhausted as Tuala felt.

“Just a fight over a ball,” said Bedo calmly. “We’ve sorted it out. I think.”

“It was Derelei’s fault,” Tuala told the twins’ mother. “I’ll be
having a few words with him. Maybe you should take the twins away for a bit, Elda. They’re quite upset.” She hoped very much that any small tales of turning into creatures would be dismissed as the products of an overwrought imagination.

When the sobbing Gilder and the sniffing Galen had been borne away, Tuala looked at Talorgen’s sons, and Uric and Bedo looked back at her.

“I won’t lie,” she
said. “I’d have been far happier if you hadn’t seen that. Folk know Broichan’s been training Derelei. But none of us knew he could do that.”

“Remember that time when we were little,” Bedo said, “and you told me you were going to turn me into a newt?” After a moment he added, “My lady.”

“I did no such thing,” Tuala said repressively. “You asked if I could, and I said I’d try if you wanted. And
you went green in the face. I remember it well.”

Uric chuckled. “But you could have, couldn’t you? Like you undid the dog thing. Just as well Bedo didn’t ask to be a monster or a powerful sorcerer or something. What if you did a spell and couldn’t reverse it?”

“Or wouldn’t,” commented Tuala grimly. “Now, boys, you must understand something.”

“Don’t tell anyone?” Bedo was smiling.

“I’d be most
grateful if you kept this to yourselves.
This kind of thing doesn’t happen often here. What these little boys need is diversion. They need to be kept so busy they have no opportunity to get into mischief.”

There was a brief silence.

“Don’t look at us,” said Uric.

“I don’t know.” There was a distinct glint in Bedo’s eye. “It does get pretty boring here in bad weather. I wonder if those carts
are still here somewhere, you know, the ones we brought from Raven’s Well a couple of years ago? They’d go well on the slope down to the main gate, don’t you think? And we could show them dodge-the-ball.” He turned to Tuala. “The carts have iron wheels. We got the blacksmith at home to make them for us. They’re good for races.”

“As long as nobody gets hurt,” Tuala told him firmly. “No broken
bones, no serious bruises. And no annoying other folk about their daily business. Ferada was full of stories about you two. I’ve heard them all.”

“We’re not so bad,” said Bedo with a crooked grin. It seemed to Tuala that, for all Uric’s practiced air of coolness, it was this brother who would have all the girls after him in a year or two.

“And you let me know straight away if there are any…
problems.”

“Yes, my lady.”

These boys had surely changed during their years under their older sister’s guidance, Tuala thought as the two of them strolled away, all relaxed good humor. Ferada had made fine young men of them; she seemed to have wiped away the shadow that had touched that family at the time of Bridei’s election to kingship. Ferada would be coming to White Hill for the birth of
the royal baby. Tuala must remember to congratulate her friend on a job well done.

Right now there was Derelei to deal with; Derelei who was curled in a tight ball under the table, silent. Tuala walked into the room and closed the door quietly behind her. She moved across and seated herself on the floor, a
little awkward with the bulk of the unborn child to balance.

“Derelei?” She kept her voice
low. “I’m not cross anymore. Gilder’s all better. Come out now.”

No response. She could feel the tension emanating from her son, even from two arm’s-lengths away.

“Derelei, you mustn’t use magic when you’re angry. It hurts people. Gilder was scared. He didn’t like being a dog.” Gods, if only he were a little older, a little more able to talk and to understand. “Come out, sweetheart. Mama isn’t
angry.”

Ban went under the table and began to lick the child’s face. Nobody could stay still long under such vigorous attentions. Derelei uncurled, whimpering, and crept out. Tuala had no lap left to sit on; she gathered him to her as best she could. “Who taught you that?” she asked him. “Boy into dog? We never tried that, and I’m sure Broichan never did, either.” Then, after a silence, “Derelei?”

“Doggy.” His tone was mutinous.

“No doggy. You mustn’t scare your friends. Mama says no.”

Silence.

“And Broichan says no.” Or would do, she was certain, if he were here. Today’s small drama had opened possibilities that filled her with dread. Keeping her child’s untapped powers under control could consume her every waking hour, her every last scrap of energy. That was not possible. There was
a baby coming. And there was Bridei, who needed her.

The quiet was broken by a little, forlorn sound. Her son was weeping. “Bawta,” he whispered. Ban pushed his nose against the child’s leg. Clearly, the dog had forgiven the earlier affront.

“I know, sweetheart,” Tuala said. “I miss him, too.” She would not say,
he will come back.
This child could not be pacified with less than truths. “If you
are good and don’t do this again, the big boys are going to play with
you and the twins tomorrow. They’ve got a cart that you can have rides in. With wheels. Go fast.” She would not think of broken limbs and cracked heads. Children must be allowed to play. Even children with a terrifying facility in the craft of magic.

“Whee,” said Derelei half-heartedly, moving his hand through the air in the
motion of a swooping bird. Tuala thought she could see an image of wheels, and sparks flying, and trees and bushes moving crazily past. She blinked and it was gone.

“That’s right,” she said. “But you must be good. No doggy. No magic at all, unless Mama is there. Promise?”

He made a little sound, not a word, but perhaps an indication of agreement. It would have to be enough, for now. Sooner or
later, Tuala thought, her son was going to cast a spell she lacked the power or the knowledge to undo. She hoped he would not reach that stage before he had a better mastery of words, before he could learn the perils his ability carried with it. As for today’s episode, it had made her wonder. Broichan had tutored Derelei wisely and carefully; she had done her own share of teaching in the same spirit.
But what he had done this afternoon, the complex transformation performed without visible effort, had not been learned from either of them.