The Well of Shades (36 page)

“You
will need to use all the abilities you possess,” Woodbine said. “The threat is powerful. Only by utter obedience and selfless courage can it be countered.”

“Selfless courage?” Tuala stared at him. “Of all the qualities I might expect you to recommend, that is one of the least likely. I doubt your kind has much idea of what the concept means.” The two of them began a rapid fading. “I’ll consider
what you’ve said,” she added hastily. “I’ll do all I can. Just leave my children alone, for now at least.”

There was no reply; the Good Folk had dwindled to faint outlines that winked out as a sudden draft blew down the chimney, setting a momentary glow on the coals.

“Was that a yes or a no?” Tuala whispered to her daughter. “Those two always did talk a lot of rubbish. In the old days I was
more inclined to believe it. The trouble is, one has to listen, because there’s often sound advice hidden in there. The immediate problem is your brother. I’ll worry about trials of obedience and selfless courage later. Anfreda, I do wish two-year-old boys were just a little wiser…”

F
EELER
?” S
ARAID’S LITTLE
voice was hoarse. “My head hurts.”

Eile was outside preparing the rabbit Faolan had trapped for supper. The child lay within the shelter of the disused hut they had made their temporary home when it became apparent Saraid had a fever and could not go on. With the clearing of the weather had come bitterly cold nights, with
a thick mist that hung low over the forested slopes until well after sunup. They had reached the waterway that separated Maiden Lake from the broad expanse of Serpent Lake, which stretched all the way north to White Hill.

“Drink some of this, Squirrel,” Faolan said, supporting the child with his arm so she could sit and take a sip of the herbal draft he had brewed. There was a small hearth inside
the hut, and they were keeping a fire burning there in addition to the outdoor cooking fire. Saraid was sometimes hot, sometimes cold; he put a hand to her brow, seeing the flush in her cheeks. Hot; too hot. Yet she huddled under the blanket as if frozen.

Perhaps they should backtrack and take her to Raven’s Well. It seemed likely Bridei would have invited Talorgen and his wife to court by now,
since he’d be needing to hold a ceremony of thanks and recognition before long. But there would be folk at that house, women who understood how to nurse a sick child. There might be a healer. His own skills in herb lore were limited to what might keep a man up and moving when there was a job to be done, and provide sleep even on the hardest bed. All his concoction would do was grant Saraid a short
respite from the fever. He did not like the rasp of her breathing. From outside came the sound of Eile coughing.

Saraid had closed her eyes. Faolan took the cup and went out.

They’d been traveling together a long time now. He would not have thought he could become accustomed to the constant presence of others, especially a woman and child who were vulnerable and, in Eile’s case, somewhat volatile.
But the fact was, right now he found himself far more concerned about Saraid’s breathing and the exhausted look on Eile’s face than he was about the pressing need to get to White Hill. At the rate they were going, Colmcille would be passing them on the road. It didn’t matter. Eile and Saraid were everything to each other. He had promised to keep them safe, and that was what he had to do.

Faolan
set a mask of calm on his face and went out to the cooking fire. Eile was crouching to turn the rabbit on a rudimentary spit. The enforced stay of several days in this lonely hut had led them to invent some improvements in their domestic arrangements: as well as this means of roasting meat, they had gathered bracken to lay on the remnants of the old place’s shelf-beds and had mended the roof to
keep out leaks. It was hardly luxury but it was more comfortable than their nights spent on the ground under the stars, coming up from Dalriada.

“You’re limping again,” Eile said, sitting back on her heels to watch his approach. “The cold makes your knee hurt, doesn’t it? Here, stand closer to the fire. Is she asleep?”

“Not quite. I gave her some more of the draft. I’ll need to forage for herbs
again: wild endive, tansy, perhaps holly leaves. What I brewed is almost finished.” He bent to rub his leg, wincing. Eile had quickly discovered this weakness; there was no point in pretending it did not slow him down. The knee ached at night and it was stiff in the mornings. When he had told Eile he got the injury fighting a pack of wolves she had refused to believe it.

“I’ll go,” Eile said,
coughing again. “Where are they? How far upstream?”

“No, I’ll go. I want you to keep warm; to stay well. Eile, some friends of the king live not far from here. It would be half a day’s travel back the way we’ve come, then up a branching track to the east. There would be proper shelter there; warm beds, women who could help.”

“Is that what you want to do?” The look in her eyes was wary.

“It
is a possibility. Once there, she’d have a better chance of recovering quickly. But we’d have to take her out in the cold to reach Raven’s Well. If we stay here and wait, we can keep her in bed and out of the chill air.”

Eile nodded. “Are you asking me to choose?”

“To consider it. We’ll decide together.”

“You could go there and fetch help,” she said, giving him a sidelong glance from where
she squatted by the fire.

Faolan was astonished at the strength of his own reaction to what he knew was, on some level, an entirely reasonable suggestion. “Absolutely not,” he said. “I’m not leaving the two of you on your own.” His mind showed him, one after another, all the ills that might befall them in his absence. Each was darker than the last; all were unthinkable.

“We’ve come through some
hard times already, Faolan,” said Eile quietly. “I think we could manage a day on our own. We have food and shelter. We have fire.”

“I’m not doing it. I won’t discuss it further.”

“Oh.” She gave the rabbit an experimental prod. “Well, it’s too late for us to start back for this place today, so we may as well wait and decide in the morning. Perhaps she’ll be better.”

Faolan heard the fear in
her voice despite her efforts to sound calm and capable. He did not think the child would die; she was healthy, though slight. He was more concerned by Eile’s rasping cough. But what did he know? Only last summer, they said a malady had swept through White Hill and carried off several children like newborn lambs in a sudden cold snap. The amenities of
court and the attentions of no less than the
king’s druid had not been able to prevent that. Saraid was as small and vulnerable as a new violet. Eile was frail; her fierce will could not disguise the translucent pallor of her skin, and her eyes still seemed too big for her face, despite the better diet of recent times.

Faolan put a hand on her shoulder and, feeling her flinch, withdrew it. “I’m no expert,” he said. “Right now, I’d prefer
the two of you were warm and dry, here where I can keep an eye on you. It’s best if we don’t travel until both of you are well again. Tonight, I want you to take the herbal draft, too.”

Eile made a face. “It smells like dog piss,” she said, reminding him that she was only sixteen.

“And tastes worse, no doubt. But it’s good for you. Now I’m going to get those herbs. If I can find some wild onions
to go with the rabbit, I’ll bring them. I won’t be far off, Eile. Stay alert, and shout if you need me.”

Her smile was hard to read. He deduced it was a good sign that she would smile at all. Then she began to cough again, and Faolan headed off up the stream, hoping she had not seen the alarm in his eyes before he turned away.

He’d gathered most of what he needed when he heard Eile’s voice raised
in a defiant challenge. He ran. The ground was muddy and studded with mossy rocks and tangles of vegetation. His foot slipped, causing him to half fall, jarringly, against a tree stump. He regained his balance, pain lancing through the injured knee, and forced himself on, the knife he had used for cutting herbs ready in his hand. After that single cry, she had not called out again. He reached
the clearing where the little hut stood. There were men, horses. Eile was in the doorway; the point of her knife was steady, aimed in the general direction of the three men who stood in front of her. Her eyes were big with shock.

“Come one step closer and I’ll stick this in your guts,” she hissed in Gaelic.

Faolan raised his arm, positioning his own knife for
flight. He pitched his voice to
be quite clear to them and spoke in the Priteni tongue. “Lay a finger on her and you’re dead. Turn around slowly and put down your weapons.”

They turned, and he saw that none of the three had weapons in hand. He saw that they were familiar. His pose did not change, nor did his tone. “Step away from her,” he said.

“Faolan!” exclaimed one of the men, a tall, square-shouldered individual with close-cropped
hair. “Put down that thing, will you? We mean no harm; we were offering to share our provisions in return for a chance to warm ourselves by the fire. The girl was the one who started flashing knives.”

Faolan lowered his hand. “She doesn’t understand this language,” he said, limping across to the hut and positioning himself between Eile and the travelers. “And you’re hardly a reassuring sight,
the three of you.” They were men of Broichan’s household: tall Cinioch, sturdy Uven, and a younger fellow whose name he could not recall. No threat, certainly; not to him. He could see how their grim demeanor and warrior tattoos would appear to Eile, not to speak of the array of bows, knives, and swords hanging about their persons. He reminded himself that, household guards as they were, these fellows
had all served in Bridei’s army last autumn.

“There’s no cause for alarm,” he told Eile in the language she understood. “I know these men; they are friends and may be able to help us. I’m sorry I took so long to get back.” He would not say, “I’m sorry you were frightened,” though he could see the terror in her eyes.

“Your leg’s hurt.” Her voice was shaking.

“It’s nothing. Eile, I’ll have to
let them share our fire. They may have useful news.”

She gave a tight nod. “Just tell them not to try anything.”

“I said I’d kill them if they did.”

Eile gave him an odd look, then vanished inside the hut. Faolan sheathed his weapon.

“Who’s the girl?” asked Cinioch.

Up till this point of the journey, Faolan had introduced her, where necessary, as his wife, and Saraid as his daughter. He was
too close to White Hill for that to be appropriate any longer. He did not especially care for
the daughter of a friend;
coupled with the ache in his knee, it made him feel old. “Eile’s a friend,” he said simply. “From home. She and her child are traveling to court under my protection. You’ll treat her with respect.”

“As Cinioch said, the girl was the one who wanted a fight, not us. You have a
child in there as well?” Uven’s brows were raised.

“They needed help. I was the only one offering. Enough of that. Share our fire if you wish. Eile and the little girl are sick; a fever and cough. We’re camped here until they can go on. Unpack your gear, then give me what news you have. If you’ve food to share, we’d welcome that.”

The three were on the way back up the lake to Pitnochie; they’d
been to Raven’s Well with messages, and to seek out news of Broichan. Over a supper of fish caught by Cinioch, the roasted rabbit, and an oaten gruel, they provided Faolan with more news than he had expected to hear, a great deal of it unsettling. Eile had chosen to eat her food in the hut with Saraid. Distrust had been written all over her features.

Faolan listened intently and chose his questions
with care. The alarm bells were at full peal. The king of Circinn dead. Bridei deciding not to contest the kingship of the southern land. Broichan not at court; Broichan gone away somewhere, leaving no idea of when or if he might return. That was not just odd, it was disturbing. When the Christians came up the Glen, and Faolan thought that would be soon, the king of Fortriu was going to need
his druid.

“We heard another strange thing,” Cinioch said. “Something you might want to pass on at White Hill, though it’s only rumor. A fellow who was passing through Raven’s Well had it from another man who’d been traveling near Thorn Bend; he’d been up and down the Circinn border. You know how Carnach went home for the winter?”

“I didn’t know, but that’s not so surprising,” Faolan said.

“The word is,” Cinioch went on, “he’s been talking of rebellion. Unhappy with the king’s decision about this election, and speaking to all the chieftains of his own region about mounting a challenge to Bridei. Carnach wouldn’t put his hand up for the kingship of Circinn, though he could have, seeing as he’s of royal blood. What Carnach wants is Fortriu. He thinks Bridei has gone weak. The word is,
there are others who agree with him.”

Faolan felt a cold sensation in his spine. “What others?” he asked calmly.

“The fellow didn’t say. We challenged him for proof and he went quiet. He did hint at help in high places; I’ve no idea what he meant. But I didn’t like what I heard. I’d have taken it straight to Broichan if he’d been home. Even if this is no more than malicious tales, the king should
know.”