Читать книгу Son of the Shadows - Juliet Marillier - Страница 8

My mind did not dwell long on this, for events soon overtook our household with a swiftness that came close to overwhelming us. We were already unhappy, divided amongst ourselves by Niamh’s unwillingness to so much as consider her suitor’s offer, and her total silence on the reasons why. By Liam’s anger, by my father’s frustration at his inability to make peace between them. My mother was distressed at seeing her menfolk at odds thus. Sean was missing Aisling, and snapped with irritation at the slightest thing. In desperation, one warm afternoon close to midsummer, I went out into the forest alone. There was a place we used to visit often in our childhood, a deep secluded pool fringed by ferns and bracken, filled by a splashing waterfall and protected by the gentle shade of weeping willows. The three of us had swum and played there many a time on hot summer days, filling the air with our shrieks and splashing and laughter. We were too old for that now, of course. Men and women, as Eamonn had reminded me. Too old for fun. But I did remember the sweet herbs which grew lush and wild near that place, parsley, chervil and abundant cresses, and I thought to make a little pie with eggs and soft cheese, that might tempt my mother’s failing appetite. So I took a basket, and tied back my hair, and set off alone into the forest, glad of some respite from the emotionally charged atmosphere of the house.

It was a warm day, and the herbs were plentiful. I picked steadily, humming under my breath, and soon enough my basket was full. I sat down to rest with my back against a willow. The woods were alive with little sounds: the rustle of squirrels in the undergrowth, the song of a thrush overhead, and stranger voices, too, subtle whispers in the air, whose words I could not comprehend. If there was a message in it, it could scarcely be for me. I sat very still, and thought perhaps I could see them: faint, ethereal shapes passing between the branches, a scrap of floating veil, a wing transparent and fragile as a dragonfly’s, hair which was shining filaments of gold and silver. Perhaps a slender hand, beckoning. And bell-like laughter. I blinked, and looked again. The sun must have been making me foolish, for now there was nothing. I must return to the house, and make my pie, and hope my family might become friends again.

There was someone there. Down between the rowans, a flash of deep blue, gone again as quickly as it had appeared. Had I heard footsteps on the soft path? I got up, basket over my arm, and followed quietly. The track led down the hillside towards the sheltered pool, curving under the trees and between thick clumps of bushes. I did not call out. There was no telling if what I had seen was merely a trick of the light on the dark foliage, or something more. And I had learned to move through the woods in silence. It was an essential skill for self-preservation, Father said. There it was again, just ahead of me behind the rowans, a hint of blue like a fold of cloth, and a flash of white, a long, delicate hand. This time the gesture was unmistakable. This way, it motioned. Come this way. I went on softly down the path.

Niamh would never believe, later, that I had not come there on purpose to find out her secret. I moved down quietly under the willows, until the calm surface of the pool came into view. I halted, frozen with shock. She had not seen me. Nor had he. They had eyes only for each other, as they stood there waist-deep, their bodies mirrored in the water under the tree canopy, their skin dappled with the sunlight through summer leaves. Her white arms were wrapped closely around his neck; his auburn head was bent to kiss her bare shoulder, and her back arched with a primitive grace as she responded to the touch of his lips. The long, bright curtain of her hair fell about her, echoing the gold of the sunlight, and not quite concealing the fact that she was naked.

Feelings warred within me. Shock, fright, a fervent wish that I had gone elsewhere for my small harvest. The knowledge that I should stop looking immediately. The complete inability to tear my eyes away. For what I saw, though deeply wrong, was also beautiful beyond my imaginings. The play of light on water, of shadow on pearly skin, the twining of their two bodies, the way they were so utterly lost in each other – to see this was as wondrous as it was deeply unsettling. If this was what I was supposed to feel for Eamonn, then I had done well to make him wait. There came a point, as the young druid’s hands moved down my sister’s body, and he lifted her, pulling her urgently towards him, when I knew I could watch no longer, and I retreated silently back under the willows, and walked blindly in the direction of home, my mind in a turmoil. Of the strange guide who had beckoned me to find them, there was now no sign at all.

Bad luck. Bad timing. Or perhaps it was meant, that the first person I should meet was my brother. That this should happen halfway across the home pastures, while my mind was filled with the image of those two young bodies wrapped so closely together, as if they were but a single creature. Perhaps the Fair Folk had a hand in it, or maybe, as Niamh said later, it was all my fault for spying. I have spoken of how it was between my brother and me. When we were younger, we would often share our thoughts and secrets direct, mind to mind, with no need at all for speech. All twins are close, but the bond between us went far deeper; in an instant we could summon one another, almost as if we had shared some part of our spirit, before ever the two of us saw the outside world. But lately we had, in unspoken agreement, chosen to shut off that link. The secrets of a young man who courts his first sweetheart are too delicate to share with a sister. As for me, I had no wish to tell him of my fears for Niamh, or my misgivings about the future. But now I could not prevent this. For it is the way of things, for those who are as close as Sean and I, that when one feels sharp distress, or pain, or an intense joy, it spills over so strongly that the other must share it. I had no way to keep him out at such times, no controls with which to set a shield on my mind. I could not block out the small, crystal-clear image of my sister and her druid, mirrored in still water, locked in each other’s arms. And what I saw and felt, my brother saw also.

‘What is this?’ Sean exclaimed in horror. ‘Is this today? Is it now?’

I nodded miserably.

‘By the Dagda, I will kill this fellow with my own hands! How dare he defile my sister thus?’

It seemed to me he would rush into the woods that instant, bent on punishment.

‘Stop. Stop it, Sean. Anger will achieve nothing here. This may not be so bad.’

He took hold of my shoulders as we stood there in the middle of the field, and made me look him straight in the eye. I saw on his face the reflection of what I read in his mind – shock, fury, outrage.

‘I cannot believe this,’ he muttered. ‘How could Niamh be a willing partner in something so utterly foolish? Doesn’t she know she’s put the whole alliance at risk? Merciful gods, how could we have been so blind? Blind, all of us! Come, Liadan, we must return to the house and tell them.’

‘No! Don’t tell, not yet. At least let me speak to Niamh first. I see – I see ill from this. A more terrible ill than you can imagine. Sean. Sean, stop.’

‘It’s too late. Much too late.’ Sean’s decision was made and he was not listening to me. He turned for the house, gesturing for me to follow him. ‘They must be told, and now. We may still salvage something from this mess, if it is kept quiet. Why didn’t you tell me? How long have you known of this?’

As we walked up to the house, a grim-faced Sean striding ahead and I reluctantly following in his wake, it seemed to me we brought a shadow with us, the deepest of shadows. ‘I did not know. Not until now. I guessed; but not that it had come so far. Sean. Must you tell them?’

‘There’s no choice. She’s to wed the Uí Néill. Our whole venture depends on that link. I dare not contemplate what this will do to Mother. How could Niamh have done such a thing? It’s beyond all reason.’

Father was out, working in one of his plantations. Mother was resting. But Liam was there, and so it was he who got the news first. I was prepared for outraged disapproval, for anger. I was completely taken aback by the way my uncle’s face changed, as Sean told him what I had seen. The look in his eyes was more than shock. I saw revulsion, and was it fear? Surely not. Liam, afraid?

When my uncle spoke at last, it was clear he was exercising the greatest control to keep his voice calm. Nonetheless, it shook as he spoke.

‘Sean. Liadan. I must ask you for your help. This matter must go no further than the family. That’s of the utmost importance. Sean, I want you to fetch Conor here. Go yourself, and go alone. Tell him it’s urgent, but don’t speak of the reason to anyone else. You’d better leave now. And keep your anger in check, for everyone’s sake. Liadan, I am reluctant to involve you, for such matters are not fit for a young woman’s eyes or ears. But you are family, and you are part of this now, like it or not. Thank the gods Eamonn and his sister are no longer at Sevenwaters. Now, I want you to go down and wait for Niamh; keep watch by your garden entry until you see her on her way home. Then bring her straight to me in the private chamber. Again, I cannot stress too strongly, no talk. Not to anyone. I will send for your father, and break this news to him myself.’

‘What about Mother?’ I had to ask.

‘She must be told,’ he said soberly. ‘But not yet. Let her have a little more peace before she must know.’

So I waited for Niamh, and as I waited I watched Sean ride away under the trees in the direction of the place the druids had their dwelling, deep in the heart of the forest. The dust flew under his horse’s feet.

I waited a long time, until it was nearly dusk. I was cold, and my head was aching, and there was a strange sort of fear in me that seemed quite out of proportion to the problem. I had been over and over it in my mind. Perhaps she really loved him, and he her. It had certainly looked that way. Maybe he was the son of a good family, and maybe it didn’t really matter whether he remained a druid or not, and – then I remembered the look on Liam’s face, and I knew that my thoughts were utterly futile. There was far more here than I could rightly understand.

It was very hard to tell Niamh. She was radiant with happiness, her skin glowing, her eyes bright as stars. She wore a wreath of wildflowers on her shining hair, and her feet were bare beneath the hem of her white gown.

‘Liadan! What on earth are you doing out here? It’s nearly dark.’

‘They know,’ I said straight out, and watched her face change as the light went out of her eyes, quenched as quickly as a doused candle. ‘I – I was picking herbs, and I saw you, and –’

‘You told! You told Sean! Liadan, how could you do such a thing?’ She gripped my arms, digging her fingers in until I gasped with pain. ‘You’ve ruined everything! Everything! I hate you!’

‘Niamh. Stop it. I said nothing, I swear. But you know how it is with me and Sean. I could not keep it from him,’ I said miserably.

‘Spy! Snoop! You use your stupid mind-talk, whatever it is, as an excuse. You’re just jealous, because you can’t get your own man! Well, I don’t care. I love Ciarán, and he loves me, and nobody’s going to stop us being together! You hear me? Nobody!’

‘Liam told me to wait for you, and bring you straight to see him,’ I managed, and now I found I had to make an effort not to cry. I swallowed my tears. They would help nobody. ‘He said we must keep this quiet. Keep it in the family.’

‘Oh, yes, the family honour. Wonderful. Can’t ruin the chance of an alliance with the Uí Néill, can we? Never mind, sister. Now that I’ve shamed the all-important family, maybe it’s you that will wed the illustrious Fionn, chieftain of Tirconnell. It could be the making of you.’

Liam’s reaction had been deeply unsettling, and a fear had gripped me, a fear whose cause I did not understand. I had tried to be calm; to be strong for my sister. But Niamh’s words hurt me, and I found I could not hold back my anger.

‘Brighid save us!’ I snapped. ‘When will you learn that there are more folk in the world than just yourself? You’re in real trouble, Niamh. Seems to me you’re over eager to hurt those who would help you. Now come on. Let’s get this over with.’

I walked to the stillroom door. From here, it was possible to go up the back stairs to the chamber where Liam waited, and with luck be unobserved. Niamh had fallen silent. I turned, hoping I would not have to drag her after me forcibly. ‘Are you coming?’

There was a sound of hoofbeats beyond the garden wall, galloping up to the main entrance. Boots crunched on gravel as men dismounted. There had been no way for Sean to return unobserved from his errand.

‘Liadan.’ My sister spoke in a very small voice.

‘What?’

‘Promise me. Promise me you’ll stay in there with me. Promise you’ll speak up for me.’

I walked straight back and put my arm around her. She was shivering in her light gown, and a tear glinted in one long-lashed blue eye. ‘Of course I’ll stay, Niamh. Now come on. They’ll be waiting for us.’

By the time we reached the upstairs room they were all there. All but Mother. Liam, Conor, Sean and my father, standing, the four of them, their faces made grimmer by the half-light, for only one small lamp burned on the table, and outside it was dark. The air was thick with tension. I could tell they had been talking, and had fallen silent as we came in. If there was anything that really frightened me as I stood there beside my sister, it was Conor’s face. The expression he wore mirrored that I had seen on his brother’s features not long before. Not quite fear perhaps. More like the memory of fear.

‘Shut the door, Liadan.’ I did as Liam told me, and returned to my sister’s side where she stood, head held high, like some tragic princess in an old story. Her hair was a glowing gold in the lamplight. Her eyes shone with unshed tears.

‘She’s your daughter,’ my uncle said bluntly. ‘Perhaps you’d better speak first.’

Father stood at the back of the room, his face in shadow. ‘You know what this is about, Niamh.’ His voice was level enough.

Niamh said nothing, but I saw her straighten her back, lift her head a little higher.

‘I have always expected my children to speak the truth, and I want the truth from you now. We had hoped for a good marriage for you. Perhaps I have allowed you more freedom than some thought wise. Freedom to make your own choices. In return, I expected – honesty, at least. Common sense. Some exercise of judgement.’

Still she said nothing.

‘You had better tell us, then, and tell us truly. Have you given yourself to this young man? Has he lain with you?’

I felt the tremor that ran through my sister’s body, and knew it for anger, not fear.

‘What if I have?’ she snapped.

There was a little silence, and then Liam said grimly, ‘Answer your father’s question.’

Niamh’s eyes were bright with defiance as she glared back at him.

‘What’s it to you?’ she demanded, voice going up a notch, and she gripped my hand so tight I thought she would break it. ‘I’m not your daughter and I never have been. I care nothing for your family honour and your stupid alliances. Ciarán is a good man, and he loves me, and that’s all that matters. The rest of it is none of your business, and I won’t sully it by laying it bare before a roomful of men! Where’s my mother? Why isn’t she here?’

Oh, Niamh. I wrenched my hand from hers and turned away. There was a weight like a cold stone in my heart.

It was Sean who stepped forward, and I had never seen such anger in his eyes, or felt in my spirit such an outpouring of rage and grief as I caught from him at that moment. There was no way I could stop him. No way in the world.

‘How dare you!’ he said in a voice cold with fury, and he lifted his hand and struck Niamh across her lovely, tear-stained cheek. A red mark appeared instantly on the golden skin. ‘How dare you ask that, how dare you expect her to endure this? Have you any idea what your selfish folly will do to her? Don’t you know our mother is dying?’

And, incredibly, it was clear that she had not known. All this time, as Sean, and I, and Iubdan, and her brothers had watched Sorcha fail just a little each day, had felt our hearts grow cold as she took one step away from us with each waning of the moon, Niamh, blithe in her own world, had seen nothing at all. She turned as white as parchment, save for the mark on her cheek, and she pressed her lips tight together.

‘Enough, Sean.’ Iubdan looked like an old man as he stepped out of the shadows, and the light showed the lines and furrows of grief on his face. He moved to take my brother by the arm and steer him back, away from Niamh who stood frozen in the centre of the room. ‘Enough, son. A man of Sevenwaters does not raise his hand in anger against a woman. Sit down. Let us all sit down.’ He was a strong man, my father. So strong, at times he put the rest of us to shame. ‘Perhaps you should leave us, Liadan. We can at least spare you this.’

‘No!’ Niamh’s voice was shrill with panic. ‘No! I want her here. I want my sister here!’

Father looked at me, raised his brows.

‘I’ll stay,’ I said, and my voice came out sounding like a stranger’s. ‘I promised.’ I glanced at Conor where he sat, ashen faced, his mouth set in a line. He had told me not to feel guilt for what must unfold. But he could not have foreseen this. I scowled at him. You didn’t tell me it would be like this!

I did not know. This, I would have done much to prevent. Still, it unfolds as it must.

‘Now,’ said Father wearily, when we were all seated, Niamh and I on a bench together, for she had grasped my hand again and this time she was not letting go. ‘We will get no more out of you tonight, I can see that. I understand also what the answer to my question is, although you did not give it. But it is clear to me you do not comprehend the import of what you have done. Were this merely a youthful escapade, a giving-in to the madness of Imbolc, a surrendering to the urges of the body, it might be more readily accepted, if not excused. Such an error is common enough, and can be overlooked, if it occurs but once.’

‘But –’ Niamh began.

‘Keep silent, girl.’ Her mouth snapped shut as Liam spoke; but her eyes were angry. ‘Your father speaks wisely. You should hear what Conor has to say. He must bear some responsibility for this himself; it is in part his own error of judgement that has brought this ill on us. What have you to tell us, brother?’

I had never heard my uncle utter a word of criticism against his brothers or sister, not in all the years since my childhood. There was some old hurt here that I could guess at only dimly.

‘Indeed,’ said Conor very quietly, looking direct at Niamh with his serene grey eyes, those eyes that saw so much, and held it all in their depths. ‘It was I who decided to bring him here; it was I who believed it was time for him to step forth and be seen. Despite the heartbreak he has caused, despite who he is, Ciarán is a fine young man and, until now, a credit to the brotherhood. He is very able. Very apt.’

‘Some credit,’ Sean growled. ‘Give him one chance to show himself in public, and the first thing he does is seduce the daughter of the house. Very apt indeed.’

‘That’s enough, Sean.’ Iubdan was keeping his tone steady at some cost. ‘Your youth makes you speak rashly. This is as much Niamh’s doing as the young man’s. He has had a sheltered upbringing, and perhaps did not fully understand the significance of his actions.’

‘Ciarán has been with the brotherhood many years, though he is still but one and twenty.’ Conor still looked straight at Niamh, and in the lamplight his long, ascetic face was as pale as his robe. ‘He has, as I said, been an exemplary student. Until now. Apt to learn. Willing. Disciplined. Skilled with words, and with other talents he has barely begun to recognise in himself. Niamh, this young man is not for you.’

‘He told me,’ said Niamh, her voice cracking. ‘He told me. He loves me. I love him. There’s nothing as important as that. Nothing!’ Her words were defiant, but underneath it she was scared. Scared of what Conor had not said.

‘There can be no union between you and this young man.’ Liam spoke heavily, as if some untold grief weighed on him. ‘You will be suitably married as soon as possible, and you will leave Sevenwaters. None must know of this.’

‘What!’ Niamh flushed scarlet with outrage. ‘Wed another man, after – you can’t say that! You can’t! Tell them, Liadan! I will wed no man but Ciarán! What if he is a druid, that need not matter, he can still take a wife, he told me –’

‘Niamh.’

At the sound of Father’s voice, her torrent of words came to an abrupt, hiccupping stop.

‘You will not wed this man. It is not possible. Perhaps this seems unfair to you. Perhaps it seems to you that we make our decision too quickly, without considering all arguments. It is not so. We cannot explain our reasons to you in full, for, believe me, that would only add to your pain. But Liam is right, daughter. This is a match that can never be. And now that you have given in to your desires, you must take a husband as soon as it can be arranged, lest – you must be wed, lest a worse evil befall this house.’

He sounded weary beyond belief, and I found his words strange. What my sister had done was foolish and unthinking perhaps, but it hardly seemed to merit such harsh treatment. And my father was ever the most balanced of men, his decisions based on a careful weighing of all relevant matters.

‘May I speak?’ I ventured with some hesitation.

The response was not encouraging. Sean glared; Liam frowned. Father did not look at me. Niamh stood frozen, save for the tears rolling down her cheeks.

‘What is it, Liadan?’ asked Conor. He had a tight guard on his thoughts; I had no idea at all what was in his mind, but I sensed a deep hurt. More secrets.

‘I’m not excusing Niamh or the young druid,’ I said quietly. ‘But do you not judge too harshly? Ciarán seems a man of favourable aspect, of good manners, clever and honest. He treated my mother with great respect. Would not such a match deserve at least some consideration? Yet you dismiss it outright.’

‘It cannot be.’ I knew from Liam’s tone that the judgement was final. Further argument was pointless. ‘As your father says, it is agreed between us that we can only do what we must to salvage the situation. It is a very grave matter; one whose full implications we cannot make known to you. This must go no further than these four walls. It is imperative that it be kept secret.’

It seemed to me a darkness had come awake and was present amongst us in this room. It was there in the red mark that marred my sister’s cheek. It was there in Liam’s criticism of his wise brother. It was there in the lines and grooves etched stark on my father’s face. It was in Niamh’s eyes as she turned on me in fury.

‘This is your fault!’ she sobbed. ‘If you’d kept out of it, if you hadn’t followed me, snooping after me, none of them would have known. We would have gone away, we could have been together –’

‘Hold your tongue, Niamh,’ said Iubdan in a voice I had never heard him use before. She hiccupped to a stop, shoulders heaving.

‘I want to see Mother,’ she said in a small voice.

‘Not tonight,’ said Father, now very quiet. ‘I have told her of this, while we awaited Conor’s arrival, and she is much distressed. She has agreed to take a sleeping draught, and is resting now. She asked for you, Liadan. I told her you would look in, before you retired for the night.’ He sounded terribly tired.

‘I want to see her,’ Niamh said again, like a small child denied a treat.

‘You have forfeited the right to make your own choices.’ My father’s words hung in a cruel silence.

I never thought I would hear him say such a thing. He spoke out of the depths of his hurt, and my heart bled for him. Niamh stood mute and still.

‘We’ll speak further of this later,’ Father went on. ‘For now, you’ll go to your room, and you’ll stay there until we decide what’s to be done. That decision must be made quickly, and you’ll abide by it, Niamh. Go now. No more tonight. And no talk of this, not to anyone, you understand? Liam is right, this must be kept contained here, or more harm will be done.’

‘What of the boy?’ asked Liam.

‘I will speak to him tonight,’ Conor replied, and he too sounded weary to exhaustion. ‘It will be a measure of his worth, how he deals with this.’

I sat by Mother until she fell into a fitful sleep. We did not speak of what had happened, but I could see she had been weeping. Then I went to my room, where Niamh sat bolt upright on her bed, staring at the wall. There was no point in trying to talk to her. I lay down and closed my eyes, but rest was impossible. I felt sick and helpless and, for all Conor’s wise words, I could not escape a sense that I had somehow betrayed my sister. There was indeed a darkness over our household, as if the shade of a past evil had come to life once more. I did not understand what it was; but I felt its grip on my heart, and saw its touch in my sister’s pallid, tear-stained face.

‘Liadan!’

My eyes came open at Niamh’s urgent whisper. She was by the window.

‘He’s here! Ciarán. He’s come for me!’

‘What?’

‘Look down. Look down to the trees.’

It was dark, and I could see little, but I heard the muffled hoofbeats as a lone rider came up very fast, too fast, from the margin of the forest. The horse’s feet crunched on gravel and then were silent. There was a hammering on the outer door, and the flare of a lamp.

‘He’s here,’ said my sister again, her voice alive with hope.

‘So much for Liam’s plan to keep this quiet,’ I said drily.

‘I must go. I must go down to him –’

‘Weren’t you listening to anything they said?’ I asked her. ‘You can’t go down. You can’t see him. This is forbidden. And didn’t Father say something about staying in your room?’

‘But I must see him! Liadan, you have to help me!’ She turned those large, beseeching eyes on me, as so many times before.

‘I won’t do it, Niamh. Anyway, you’re wrong. Your young man is not here to fetch you away in secret. A lover does not do so by knocking down her father’s door. He is here because he has heard the news, and does not understand. He is here because he is hurt and angry, and wants answers.’

Downstairs, the nocturnal visitor had been admitted and the door closed after him. It was silent again.

‘I have to know,’ hissed Niamh, grabbing me by the arms right where she had bruised me before. ‘You go, Liadan. Go down and listen. Find out what’s happening, tell me what they’re saying. I must know.’

‘Niamh –’

‘Please. Please, Liadan. You’re my sister. I’m not breaking any rules, I’ll stay here, I promise. Please.’

For all her faults, I loved my sister, and had never found it easy to refuse her. Besides, I had to admit that I, too, wanted to know what was being said behind closed doors. I was not comfortable living in a house of secrets. But I had seen the look on Liam’s face, and heard the anger in my father’s voice. I had no wish to be discovered where I had no business to be.

‘Please, Liadan. You have to help me. You have to.’

She went on in this vein for some time, weeping and pleading, her voice growing hoarse with tears. In the end she wore me down.

I threw a shawl over my nightrobe, and went soft-footed along the hallway until I saw a line of faint light under the door of that room where we had spoken before. There was nobody about. It seemed Liam had been quick to avoid a public scene.

From inside came the sound of voices, but I could not hear the words. It sounded as if there were four of them there. Liam, curtly decisive; the more measured tones of Conor. My father’s voice was deeper and softer. Sean, it seemed, had been excluded. Perhaps they considered him too young and rash for such a council. I stood shivering at the top of the stairs. Now Ciarán’s voice; the words indistinct, the tone harsh with grief and outrage. I sensed movement within the chamber, and sought to retreat. But I was not quick enough. The door slammed open and the young druid strode out, face chalk white, eyes blazing. As the door swung to I heard Liam saying, ‘No. Leave him be.’

Ciarán halted in his tracks, staring at me as I stood motionless there in my old nightrobe and woollen shawl. I thought he hardly saw what was in front of him; his eyes were full of ghosts. But he knew who I was.

‘Here,’ he said, reaching into the pouch he had at his belt. ‘Tell her I’m going away. Tell her – give her this.’ He dropped something small into my hand, and then he was gone without a sound, down the stairs and away into the darkness.

When I was safely back in my room, I gave Niamh the smooth white pebble with a neat hole through it, and I told her what he had said, and I held her in my arms while she wept and wept as if she would never stop. And deep in my spirit, I heard the sound of hoofbeats as Ciarán rode away, further and further, as many miles from Sevenwaters as his horse would carry him by sunrise.

Before midsummer my sister wed Fionn, chieftain’s son of the Uí Néill, and that same day he took her away with him to Tirconnell. I rode with them as far as the village of Littlefolds. At least, that was the plan. Silent, frozen, impenetrable as she was in her grief, Niamh had made a single request, and that was for my company to see her on her way.

‘Are you sure this is all right?’ I had asked Mother.

‘We’ll manage,’ she smiled, but there was a sorrow in her eyes these days. ‘You must live your life, daughter. We’ll do well enough without you for a while.’

I thought to ask her what it might mean, that an Otherworld guide had led me to discover my sister’s secret, and set her on a path out of Sevenwaters and away from the forest. For I had no doubt that the Fair Folk had a hand in that, but I could not guess their motive. My mother might know, for she had more than once seen these powerful beings face to face, and been guided by their wishes. But I did not ask. Mother had enough to bear. Besides, it was too late. Too late for Niamh, and too late for Ciarán, who was gone away, nobody knew where.

Father was not quite so ready to see me ride off, but he recognised how it was with Niamh, and reluctantly he agreed. ‘Don’t be gone too long, sweetheart,’ he said. ‘Five or six nights at most. And go nowhere unguarded. Liam will provide armed men to see you home safely.’

Before her wedding, I fashioned a fine, strong cord for my sister to wear about her neck. As I wove it I told myself the tale of Aengus Óg and the fair Caer Ibormeith, and I felt the weight of unshed tears heavy behind my eyes. Into this cord I wove one gold thread from my uncle Conor’s robe. There were fibres there of heather and lavender, celandine and juniper; I sought to protect her as well as I could. There were plain linen strands from my own working attire, and a thread of blue from my mother’s ancient, most beloved gown. Sean’s riding cloak provided dark wool, and the leather strips that bound the ends of it were snipped from an old pair of Iubdan’s working boots. A farmer’s muddy boots. I fashioned all together into a cord that was fine and smooth, and crafted so that it would take more than mortal strength to break it. I didn’t say anything when I slipped it into Niamh’s hand, and neither did she. But she knew what it was for. She took the small white stone from her pocket, and threaded the cord through the little hole in it, and put it around her neck, and I lifted aside the weight of her beautiful fiery hair, and tied the leather strips tightly together. When she slipped the stone under her gown, it could not be seen at all.

Since that night, when she had learned that it is men who make decisions and women who must follow them, my sister had not once mentioned Ciarán. Indeed, she had not spoken much at all. Those had been her last tears; her last signs of weakness. I saw the bitter resentment in her eyes as she told Liam she would wed Fionn as he wished. I saw the pain on her face as she made ready her gowns and shoes and veils, as she watched the women sew her wedding dress, as she gazed out the window at the soft summer woods of Sevenwaters. She would barely speak, even to Mother. Father tried to talk to her, but she tightened her lips and would not hear his quiet words, as he attempted to explain to her that this was indeed best for her; that she would discover in time that the right choice had been made. After that, Father took to staying out late in the fields, so he need not speak to any of us. Sean busied himself with the men in the practice yard, and gave both his sisters a wide berth.

As for me, I loved Niamh and wanted to help her. But she would not let me in. Only once, the night before her wedding, as we lay sleepless, sharing our bedchamber for the last time, she said very softly,

‘Liadan?’

‘What is it, Niamh?’

‘He said he loved me. But he went away. He lied to me, Liadan. If he had truly loved me, he would never have left me. He would not have given up so easily.’

‘I shouldn’t think it was easy at all,’ I said, remembering the look on the young druid’s face in the shadow of the hallway, and the harsh note of pain in his voice.

‘He said he would love me for ever.’ My sister’s voice was tight and cold. ‘All men are liars. I told him I would be his alone. He did not deserve such a promise. I hope he suffers when he learns that I have wed another, and gone far from the forest. Perhaps he will know then how betrayal feels.’

‘Oh, Niamh,’ I said, ‘he does love you, I am sure of it. No doubt he had his reasons for going away. There is more to this than we know; secrets not yet told. You should not hate Ciarán for what he has done.’

But she had turned her face to the wall, and I could not tell if she heard me or not.

Fionn was a man of middle years, as my uncle had said, well mannered, decisive, and accompanied by the retinue one would expect for a man of his standing. His eyes followed my sister, and he made no attempt to conceal the desire in them. But his mouth was cold. I did not like him. What the rest of my family thought was anyone’s guess, for we made a convincing pretence of joyful celebration, and the wedding day was not lacking in music, and flowers, and feasting. The Uí Néills were a Christian household, and it was a Christian priest who spoke the words and heard the couple’s vows. Aisling was there, and with her Eamonn. I was relieved there was no opportunity to speak with him alone. He would have read the unhappiness in my eyes, and demanded to know the cause. Conor was not there, nor any others of his kind. Underneath the jollity there was a freezing wrongness about the whole thing, and there was absolutely nothing I could do about it. Then we rode away to the northwest, Niamh and her husband, and the men of Tirconnell, and the six men at arms from our own household, with me in the middle, feeling just a little ridiculous.

The village of Littlefolds lies tucked under a hill, in a fold of the land amidst thickly wooded, undulating country. It is to the west of Eamonn’s estates, and northwest of his border with Seamus Redbeard. Our journey had taken us, thus far, through familiar and friendly territory. Now it was time to bid my sister farewell, and turn for home. It was the third day. We had made camp on the way, and had been well provided for. Niamh and I and the maidservant who accompanied her had shared a canopied tent, while the men fended for themselves. I supposed Fionn would wait until they reached Tirconnell to consummate the marriage. For my sister’s sake, I hoped he would wait.

We said our farewells. There was no time; no privacy. Fionn was eager to be away. I hugged Niamh and looked into her eyes, and they were empty, like the eyes of a lovely image carved in pale stone.

‘I’ll come and see you,’ I whispered. ‘Just as soon as I can. Be strong, Niamh. I’ll hold you in my heart.’

‘Goodbye, Liadan,’ she said in a tight little voice, and she turned so that Fionn could help her onto her horse, and they rode away without a word more. I did not weep. My tears would help nobody.

With the men of Tirconnell departed, the atmosphere thawed a little. My six men at arms had done exactly the job Liam had given them, surrounding me, grim faced, on the road so that I was protected from any possible attack; maintaining a watchful, well-armed guard at all other times. Now, as they readied horses and baggage for the return to Sevenwaters, one cracked a joke, and the others laughed, and one asked me quite gently if everything was all right, and whether it would suit me to leave by mid-morning. Was I tired? Could I ride maybe half a day before we stopped to rest? I said yes, for I wanted nothing more than to be back home, and to start mending the hurt of this last painful time. So I sat on a flat-topped stone and watched them as they made their orderly preparations. The sky was heavy with clouds; it would rain before sunset.

‘My lady!’ It was one of the villagers, a young woman with a worn, lined face, her hair caught back in an old green kerchief. ‘My lady!’ She was running towards me, breathless in her haste. Liam’s men were good. Before she was anywhere near, there were two of them right beside me, hands on sword hilts. I stood up.

‘What is it? What’s the matter?’

‘Oh, my lady,’ she gasped, holding her side, ‘I’m so glad you haven’t gone yet. I’m still in time. It’s my boy, Dan. I heard – they say you’re the daughter of a great healer. My lady, Danny’s got a fever on him that won’t go down. He shakes and trembles, and talks nonsense, and I’m afraid for him, I am so. Won’t you come and cast your eye over him, just quickly before you go?’

I was already hunting around for my small pack, for I never travelled without a healer’s basic supplies.

‘This is not a good idea, my lady.’ The leader of the men at arms was frowning. ‘We should leave directly, to reach a safe place of shelter by dusk. Liam said, straight there and straight back.’

‘Have you no healers of your own?’ another of the men asked.

‘None such as the lady here,’ the woman said, with a thread of hope in her voice. ‘They say she has magic in her hands.’

‘I don’t like it,’ the leader said.

‘Please, my lady. He’s my only boy, and I’m out of my mind with worry, for I don’t rightly know what to do for him.’

‘I won’t be long,’ I told them firmly, picking up the pack and starting back towards the village. The men glanced at one another.

‘You two go with the lady Liadan,’ the leader barked. ‘One at each door, and let nobody in or out, save this woman and the lady herself. Eyes and ears open, weapons drawn. You, stand guard where you can see the path by the cottage. You, down the bottom of the track. Fergus and I will guard the horses. Keep it quick, my lady, if you please. You can’t be too careful these days. Lot of rabble around.’

It was dark in the cottage, which was no more than a windowless hut of mud and wattle, roofed with ragged thatch. A shielded candle burned by the boy’s pallet. The guards did as they were told. The one at the back door I could not see; the other stood just outside the front, where he could keep a watch both on me and on the entrance. I felt the boy’s forehead, touched my finger to his wrist where the blood pulsed.

‘He is not so very sick that a herbal tea, administered correctly, may not help,’ I said. ‘Here, make this up, one handful in a large cup of hot water. Let it infuse till the colour is a deep gold; then strain it well, and let it cool until you can put a finger in comfortably. Give the boy a cupful twice a day. Don’t try to make him eat; he will take food soon enough, when he’s ready. This summer fever is quite common. I am surprised you –’

I saw the boy’s eyes change as he looked over my shoulder and beyond me, and I saw the woman back away silently, a mute apology on her worn face. I tried to rise and turn around, but as I stood up a large hand was clapped over my mouth, and a muscular arm seized me around the chest, and it became clear to me that I had been neatly trapped. Iubdan’s training had made sure I would not be without resources in such a situation. I sank my teeth into my captor’s hand, so that his grasp loosened for an instant, just long enough for me to raise my foot sharply to catch him between his legs. If I expected him to let me go, I was wrong. He sucked in his breath; that was all. I tasted his blood. I had marked him. But he remained silent. There was no cursing. Only a tightening of his grip. Where were my guards? How had he got in? Now even the woman was nowhere to be seen. The man began to move, trying to drag me to the back door. I made my whole body limp; he would have to carry me, to get me out of there. I felt the pressure ease from my mouth, just a little, as he shifted his hold. I drew a deep breath, ready to yell for help. An instant later, there was a sickening blow on the back of my head, and everything went dark.

My head was on fire. My mouth was as dry as chaff in a summer wind. There was scarce a part of my body that did not ache, for it seemed I had been dropped to the ground and left where I fell, one arm under me, my body sprawled face down on the hard earth. I was not tied up. Perhaps when I worked out what was happening, there would be some chance of escape. They had taken the little knife from my belt. That was no surprise. I lay still, eyes closed. I could hear birds calling, many birds, and a breeze in leaves, and water running over stones. Well out of doors, then, somewhere in that vast wooded area beyond the village. It was no longer full day; when I opened my eyes just a crack I judged it was approaching dusk. How long, I wondered, before someone raised an alarm? How long before somebody came out to find me? It had been an efficient blow, calculated to put me out of action and keep me silent for long enough, without any permanent damage. In a way that was a good sign. The question was, long enough for what?

‘They’ll be back by sunset.’

‘So?’

‘So who’s going to tell the Chief, then? Who’s going to explain this? Not me, that’s for sure.’

‘Pity we can’t keep it quiet. Get him called away on some mission, as far away as possible. She showing any sign of coming round?’

‘Not a twitch. Sure you haven’t killed her, Dog?’

‘Who, me? Kill a little woman like her? With my tender heart?’

Then there was an awful groaning sound, like a man in deathly agony. This shocked me so much I forgot to pretend, and sat up quickly. A mistake. The pain in my head was so bad that a wave of nausea hit me, and for a moment all I could see was whirling stars. I held my hands against my temples, eyes shut, until the throbbing began to subside. The terrible groaning went on.

‘Here,’ said a voice. I opened my eyes cautiously. A man was crouched next to me, in his hand a cup. The cup was plain dark metal. The hand that held it was even darker. I looked into the man’s face, and he grinned, showing gleaming white teeth, of which one or two were missing. His face was as black as night. I stared, forgetting all my manners.

‘You’ll be thirsty,’ he said. ‘Here.’

I took the cup of water and drained it. Things came into focus, slowly. We were on a flat patch of ground, by a little stream, where the bushes and trees grew less densely. There were great moss-covered rocks, and thick ferns on the bank. It had been raining, but we were protected by overhanging willows. There were two other men there, both now standing, hands on hips, looking down at me. All three of them were extraordinary; the stuff of fanciful tales. One had half of his skull shaved clean and the other half left alone, so the hair there was long and knotted, dark save for a streak of white at the temple. Around his neck he wore a strip of leather threaded through three great claws, perhaps a wolf’s, though this would have been a bigger wolf than most men would see in their lives, or wish to see. This man had a face pockmarked with small scars, and feral yellow eyes. His chin was etched with a neat pattern, the ink marked into the skin in cross-hatched lozenges from lip to jaw line. The second man bore markings around his wrists, as of twined serpents, and over his tunic he wore a strange garment that appeared to be fashioned of snakeskin. Again, the flesh of the face was etched and coloured, this time on the brow. A design of cunningly interlocked scales, and a forked, venomous tongue drawn down the ridge of the nose. He was younger, perhaps not yet five and twenty, but like the others, a hard-looking man, a man only a fool would meddle with. The dark one was more simply dressed, and if there were patterns on his inky skin, I could not see them. His only adornment was in his tightly curling hair, which he wore in many braids to the shoulders. Behind the left ear, a single feather made a lighter patch against the black. He saw me looking.

‘Gull,’ he said. ‘Keeps me in mind of the sea.’ He nodded at the others in turn. ‘Dog. Snake. We have no other names here.’

‘Very well,’ I said politely, pleased that my voice was coming out reasonably steady. It seemed important not to let them know how frightened I was. ‘Then I need not give mine. Which of you was it gave me this headache?’

Two of them looked at the one with the wolf’s claws and half-shaven head. Dog. He was a very big man.

‘Didn’t expect you to fight,’ he said gruffly. ‘Got a job for you. Couldn’t risk you screaming. Women do scream.’

The moaning started again. It was coming from the rocks behind us.

‘Someone’s hurt,’ I said, getting up carefully.

‘That’s it,’ said the black one, Gull. ‘You’re the healing woman, aren’t you? The one they said might pass through the village?’

‘I have some skills,’ I said cautiously, for I did not want to give too much away. If they were who I thought they were, then it would be wise to be very, very careful. ‘What’s the matter with this man? Can I look at him?’

‘That’s what you’re here for,’ said Dog. ‘Better make it quick. Chief’s due back, and we need a good answer for him, or this man won’t see another sunrise.’ The language they used was quite odd, a jumbled mixture of Irish and the tongue of the Britons, word and phrase chosen, it seemed, from whichever happened to suit them. Their speech was fluent but accented; Snake, perhaps, was a man of Ulster, but I doubted the others had owned either of these tongues from birth. It was just as well I had a parent of each extraction; I could follow well enough, if I concentrated, though here or there they slipped in a word the meaning of which was quite unknown to me, as if still another language lent its own touch to this peculiar speech.

I had seen and tended to many injuries, some of them severe. A festering knife wound; a nasty accident with a pitchfork. But I had never seen anything like this. The man lay in a sheltered area in a sort of half-cave, safe from rain and wind and the sun’s heat. There had been some attempt to make him comfortable on a makeshift pallet, and there was a rough stool by it, and water and a quantity of noisome linen. On the ground were a flask and another of the dark metal cups. The man was gasping now, turning his head from side to side in pain, and his skin was pallid and beaded with sweat. His right arm was bandaged from shoulder to fingertips, and the whole length of it was red with blood. You could see, without unwrapping the stained cloth, that the limb was more than broken. The flesh of bare chest and shoulder was streaked with a dull, angry crimson.

‘What have you given him for the pain?’ I asked crisply, rolling up my sleeves.

‘He can’t keep anything down,’ Dog said. ‘There’s strong wine in the flask; we tried that, but he can’t swallow it, or if he does, he’ll be retching it back before you can count to five.’

‘We doctor ourselves here, and do well enough,’ said Gull. ‘But this – this we can’t deal with. Can you help him?’

I was unwrapping the bloody dressings, trying not to screw up my face at the smell.

‘When did this happen?’ I asked.

‘Two days since.’ Snake was there too now, one eye on me and my patient and the other keeping a lookout. For the Chief, I presumed. ‘He’s careful, mostly. Lost his grip, this time. Trying to shift a load off the cart by himself. Caught a weight of scrap iron, crushed his arm to nothing. Would’ve been a goner if Dog here hadn’t pulled him away in time.’

‘Not fast enough,’ said Dog, scratching the bald side of his head.

I finished unrolling the stained and stinking linen as the injured man bit his lip, feverish eyes fixed on my face. He was conscious, but I thought not really aware of what was before him, or of the words that were spoken. I turned away from the pathetic, shattered remnant of his limb.

‘This man has little chance,’ I said quietly. ‘Ill humours already spread through his body from this injury. The arm cannot be saved. He has days of agony ahead of him. I can help with that. But it is unlikely I can save his life. It might, indeed, have been better if he had died then, straight away. You’ve done your best, I can see that. But this may be beyond the skill of any healer.’

They were all silent. Outside it was growing darker.

‘I can at least make him more comfortable,’ I said finally. ‘I hope you had the sense to bring my things.’ My heart sank at the prospect of dealing with such an injury out here with no tools, no ready supply of the strong herbal mixtures I would need.

‘Here,’ said Dog, and there it was, my small bag, neatly packed and strapped. He dropped it at my feet.

‘What happened to my guards?’ I asked as I crouched to undo the bindings and find what I needed.

‘Best you don’t know,’ said Snake from where he still kept lookout. ‘Less you know the better. If you want to get home.’

I rose to my feet. The three of them were all watching me closely. It would have been intimidating had I not been so intent on my task.

‘We’d hoped you’d be able to do more,’ said Gull bluntly. ‘Save his life, if not the arm. This man’s a good man. Strong. Steady.’

‘I’m no miracle worker. I’ve told you what I think. I can promise no more than to make his last days easier. Now, can you fetch me some hot water, and is there any clean linen? Get this out of here, and burn it, for it’s beyond washing. I’ll need some sort of jug, if you have one, and a bucket or bowl.’

‘Not now,’ said Snake sharply. ‘Chief’s coming.’

‘Curse it.’ Dog and Snake were gone in a flash. Gull hovered in the entrance.

‘I take it this Chief’s not going to throw out the welcome mat for me?’ I asked, trying not to show my fear. ‘You’ve broken some rule in bringing me here?’

‘More than a few,’ Gull said. ‘My doing. Best thing you can do is keep your mouth shut. Chief can’t abide women. Let me do the talking.’ Then he too was gone. I heard the sound of voices, further away. My patient let out his breath, and sucked it in suddenly, and his body began to tremble all over.

‘It’s all right. It’s all right,’ I said, silently cursing the isolation, and the lack of ready materials and reliable assistance. A pox on them. Asking me to do good here was like – was like expecting a man to plough a field with his bare hands. How could they do this to me? How could they do it to one of their own?

‘… help … help me …’ The injured man was looking right at me now, and there was some sort of recognition in the too-bright eyes. His features were so drained and white, it was hard to tell what manner of man he had been, of what years or origin. He was tall and strongly built, in keeping with his trade. The left arm was well muscled, the heaving chest sturdy as a barrel. It only made the pathetic bundle of flesh and bone on his right side more pitiful. He would take a long time to die.

‘… lady … help …’

The voices outside came close, and now I could make out the words.

‘I’m not sure I heard right. Much against my better judgement, I give you two days to prove to me that you know better than I. Now the time’s up. There’s no improvement in his condition. All you have done is put off the inevitable. And you bring a woman here. Some girl you abduct off the road. She could be anyone. I’ve misjudged you, Gull. It seems you value your place in my team less highly than I thought.’

‘Chief.’

‘Am I wrong? Is he improved? Has this female effected some miracle cure?’

‘No, Chief, but –’

‘Where’s your sense, Gull? And you? What’s got hold of you? You know the way this should have ended, when first he came by the injury. I should not have let you stand in the way. If you have not the stomach for such decisions, there can be no place for you here.’

They were close to the rocks now, almost in sight. I held my patient’s hand and made myself breathe slowly and steadily.

‘Chief. This is not just any man. This is Evan we’re talking about.’

‘So?’

‘A friend, Chief. A good friend, and a good man.’

‘Besides,’ put in Dog, ‘who’ll mend our weapons, with him gone? Best smith this side of Gaul, Evan is. You can’t just …’ His voice died away, as if something had just occurred to him. There was a pause.

‘A one-armed smith is of limited use.’ The tone was cool, dispassionate. ‘Have you given thought to what the man himself would want?’

At that moment they stepped around the rocks, and under the overhang, and to where I sat by the injured man. I stood up as tall as I could, trying hard to look calm and confident. It scarcely mattered. The Chief’s eyes swept over me dismissively, and settled on the man who lay by my side. I might not have been there, for all the notice he took of me. I watched him as he came close and touched the smith’s brow with his hand. A hand patterned, from the wrist of his shirt to the fingertips, with feathers and spirals and interlocking links, as complex and fascinating as some ancient puzzle. I glanced up, and for a moment he looked straight back at me, across the pallet. I gaped. This was a face such as I had never seen before, even in the most fanciful of dreams. A face that was, in its way, a work of art. For it was light and dark, night and day, this world and the Otherworld. On the left side, the face of a youngish man, the skin weathered but fair, the eye grey and clear, the mouth well formed if unyielding in character. On all the right side, extending from an undrawn mark down the exact centre, an etching of line and curve and feathery pattern, like the mask of some fierce bird of prey. An eagle? A goshawk? No, it was, I thought, a raven, even as far as the circles about the eye, and the suggestion of predatory beak around the nostril. The mark of the raven. If I had not been so frightened, I might have laughed at the irony of it. The pattern extended down his neck and under the border of his leather jerkin, and the linen shirt he wore beneath it. His head was completely shaven, and the skull, too, was coloured the same, half man, half wild creature; some great artist of the inks and needle had wrought this over many days, and I imagined the pain must have been considerable. What manner of man needed such decoration, to find his identity? I was staring. He was probably used to that. With difficulty, I tore my gaze away to where Gull and Dog and Snake were standing mute amongst a group of other men. Their garb was motley, in tune with Eamonn’s description; a shaggy pelt here, feathers there, chain links, leather patches, straps and buckles, silver collars and armlets, and a not inconsiderable display of well-muscled flesh in various shades. It occurred to me, somewhat belatedly, that this was perhaps not the best of places for a young woman on her own. I could almost hear my father’s voice. Haven’t you been listening to a thing I’ve told you, Liadan?

The leader had drawn a knife from his belt. It was a sharp, lethal sort of knife.

‘Let us end this farce,’ he said. ‘You should not have delayed me in doing so before. This man has no further use. He can no longer contribute, here or elsewhere. All you have done is prolong his suffering needlessly.’ He moved subtly, so the injured man could not see his hands, and he shifted his grip on the knife. The others stood silent. Nobody moved. Nobody said a word. He raised the knife.

‘No!’ I put out a hand across the pallet, shielding the wounded man’s neck. ‘You can’t do this! You can’t just – finish him off, as if he were some snared rabbit, or a sheep to be slaughtered for the pot. This is a man here. One of your own.’

The Chief raised his brows just a fraction. The thin line of his mouth did not change. The eyes were cool.

‘Would you not administer such a stroke, if it were your dog, or your hawk, or your mare that suffered thus with deadly injury? You would not wish such agony to be extended without reason? But no, I suppose there was always some man to do your dirty work for you. What could a woman know of such things? Remove your hand.’

‘I will not,’ I responded, my anger rising. ‘You say this man has no further use, as if he were – merely some tool, some weapon in your armoury. You say he cannot contribute. For your purposes, maybe that is true. But he still lives. He can love a woman, and father a child. He can laugh and sing and tell tales. He can enjoy the fruits of the fields and a tankard of good ale at night. He can watch his son become a smith such as he was. This man can have a life. There is a future, after –’ I looked around me, at the circle of grim-faced men – ‘after this.’

‘Where did you learn of life?’ the raven man asked me in the bleakest of tones. ‘In some faery tale? We live by the code. We have no names; no past, no future. We have tasks to perform, and at those we are the best. There is no life for this man, nor for any of us, outside that. There can be none. Step away from the bed.’ It was growing quite dark, and one of the men had lit a small lantern. Crazy shadows fell across the creviced rock walls, and the leader’s face held a menace that was as real as the weapon in his hand. You could see how it might strike terror into an enemy, for in the trickery of the uneven light he did indeed seem half raven, his eye piercing bright and dangerous amid the whorls and spirals of the finely drawn pattern.

‘Step away,’ he said again.

‘I will not,’ I said. And he raised his left hand, as if to strike me across the face. With a great effort of will I managed not to flinch away. I held his gaze and hoped he could not see how I was shaking with fear. The man stared back at me, bleak eyed, and then he slowly lowered his hand.

‘Chief,’ ventured Gull, the only one bold enough to speak out.

‘Hold your tongue! You’re going soft, Gull. First you beg two days’ grace for a man you know has no hope of survival, who wouldn’t want to live even if he could. Then you bring some fool of a girl here. Where did you find her? She’s got a tongue on her, that’s beyond dispute. Can we get on with this? There’s work to be done.’ Perhaps he thought he had intimidated me into silence.

‘He does have a chance,’ I said, much relieved that he had decided not to hit me, for my head ached already from its earlier knock. ‘A slender one, but a real one nonetheless. He must lose the arm. That I cannot save. But I may save his life. I do not believe he would want to die. He asked me to help him. At least let me try.’

‘Why?’

‘Why not?’

‘Because – curse it, woman, I’ve neither time nor inclination to debate issues with you. I don’t know where you came from or where you’re going, and I have no wish to be enlightened on either score, but here you are no more than a nuisance and an inconvenience. This is no place for a woman.’

‘Believe me, I am not here by choice. But now that your men have brought me so far, at least give me a trial. I will show you what I can do. Seven days, eight – long enough to tend to the man properly, and give him a fighting chance. That’s all I’m asking.’ I saw Gull’s face, a picture of surprise. I had, after all, completely contradicted my earlier words. Perhaps I was a fool. Dog had hope written on his plain features; the others looked at the rock wall, the ground, their hands, anywhere but at their leader. Someone at the back gave a tiny little whistle, as if to say, now she’s done it.

The raven man stood very still for a moment, looking at me through narrowed eyes, and then he slipped the wicked knife casually back into its sheath.

‘Seven days,’ he said. ‘You think that’s enough?’

I could hear the laboured breathing of the smith, and the cynical tone of the questioner’s voice.

‘The arm must come off,’ I said. ‘Tonight, straight away. I’ll need help with that. I can tell you how to do it, but I don’t have the strength for the cutting. After that, I’ll tend to him. Ten days would be better.’

‘Six days,’ he said levelly. ‘In six days we move. It can be no later; we are required elsewhere, and must allow time for travel. If Evan is not fit to accompany us, he’ll be left behind.’

‘You ask the impossible,’ I whispered, ‘and you know it.’

‘You wanted a trial. This is your trial. Now, if you’ll excuse us, we have work to do. You, Gull, and you,’ nodding at Dog, ‘since your folly brought her here, you can help her with the job. Fetch what she wants. Do her bidding. And the rest of you –’ He glanced around the circle of men, and they fell silent. ‘The woman is out of bounds. I should not need to tell you that. Lay a hand on her, and you’ll have extreme difficulty in picking up your weapon the next day. She’ll remain here, with a guard outside at all times. If I hear so much as a breath of any breach, you’ll be painfully aware of it.’