He had witnessed the ceremony only once. He had seen it, had taken part in it, and had known he could never let it happen again. The Gateway ritual took place at White Hill now, and there was no spilling of blood, no waste of young
life, no terrible requirement to place duty before the most desperate clamoring of the human heart. That this change would have its cost, few doubted. Once before, a king had defied the dark god. A shocking retribution had been exacted, a punishment that came close to extinguishing the Priteni forever. Bridei, steeped in lore and faultlessly loyal to the gods of his ancestors, nonetheless knew
in his heart that his choice had been right. If there were consequences, then he would bear them.
The Well of Shades was closed up now, and an iron gate set across the precipitous, narrow pathway that plunged down into the hill. Bridei waited while Breth unlocked the gate for him. He walked through with the little dog, Ban, at his heels and waited again while Breth closed the grille behind him.
“Will you wait?” he asked his bodyguard. “I don’t know how long I will be.”
“I’ll be here.” Breth settled by the gate, a solid, reassuring presence. Higher up the path, atop one of the rising banks, a torch had been lit. The fresh breeze from the sea made it sputter and flare. Bridei descended the steps, a smaller brand held in his hand. The well was set deep into the hill and could only be reached
by this single, improbably steep entry. The lower reaches were pitch-dark; a preternatural cold arose from the cave below. Ban halted on the steps, shivering. Bridei glanced down at him.
“Guard!” he commanded, allowing Ban the dignity of performing a duty. The small creature was not lacking in courage; his long history proved that. Entering the chamber of the well, however, was more than should
be expected of any creature. Ban settled, a white shadow on the dark stone steps, keeping faithful watch. Bridei went on down.
He could not come here without remembering that first time: the inky water, the torches, the dark-clad men, and the solitary girl like a pale flower in her ceremonial robe. The old king, who had been deathly sick, his iron will struggling to rule his failing body. Broichan,
tall and grim, a vessel for the terrible power of the nameless god. And the moment when King Drust had asked for aid and he, Bridei, was the only one who stepped forward. The moment when he had helped to drown a girl …
He set his torch in the iron socket by the entry and moved to kneel beside the water. The rectangular pool was bordered by a narrow stone shelf a hand-span above the black surface.
There was a cold breath here, a deathly thing that hummed and whispered into the corners of the chamber. Bridei closed his eyes and stretched his arms out to the sides in a pose of meditation. He made himself utterly still. As the sky outside the sunken chamber turned to the violet of dusk and the dove-gray of a spring night, he knelt in silent vigil. Both Bridei and Broichan kept this observance
each time they visited Caer Pridne, believing that the silent obedience of king and king’s druid might ease, in part, the deity’s anger that his dues no longer came in hot blood and living flesh.
Bridei was practiced in the conduct of rituals. Broichan had kept him up on Midsummer Eve since he was barely four years old, and had ensured that his foster son was as thoroughly versed in lore as any
druid. Tonight, however, presented a particular challenge. Derelei was dying; Bridei knew it, for all Tuala’s reassuring words. There were particular prayers to be offered here, forms of words suited to this most perilous of gods, but Bridei’s heart was full of an incoherent kind of prayer that had nothing to do with ritual practice. He fought to suppress it, pacing his breathing, maintaining his
still pose, fixing his mind on the sequence of statements Broichan had taught him as the appropriate ones for the time and place:
I breathe into the dark
I breathe into the stillness
I breathe into the center of the dark
I bend as the wheat stalks before the wind
I bend as the birches before the gale
I bend under the flail of his breath
Oldest of all …
But under the solemn words, others
clamored to be heard; under the steady rise and fall of his chest was the chaotic breath of panic; under the even beat of the meditative heart was the wild, thumping lament of impending loss, the rending, the wailing, the things a king did not give vent to, not even when he was a young father and his little son was a hairsbreadth from Bone Mother’s long embrace.
Beneath the earth lies the great
stone
Beneath the stone lies the fire
Beneath the fire lies the ash, the dust
Beneath the dust, the breath
Rise and fall.
The words came freely, steady and sure; he had been expertly trained. The tears that were rolling down his cheeks were not part of Broichan’s teaching.
Cleanse, Fire
Strip to the bare bone
Drown, Flood
Deeper than whale’s way
Scourge, Wind
Score away kith and
kin
Swallow, Stone
Silence all story
Way for him: Shadow-master,
Oldest of all.
The words helped him. Their patterns had been so well learned they flowed almost despite himself. He had become aware, over the years of his childhood, that such discipline holds firm against the most powerful assaults. At length the words had all been spoken and there was only the chamber, and the water, and
the silence. Bridei held his pose, back straight, arms outstretched; the torchlight threw his shadow across the cave, an eagle, a sword hilt, a cross. The little cold drafts moved around him, murmuring in his ears.
Gone. Gone. He’s gone.
And he heard his own voice replying, its tone not the steady, even chant of formal prayer nor yet the anguished scream of his heart, but a whisper.
“I do not
seek to bargain; I understand that is not possible. Know only that I am loyal. I love the gods of Fortriu, and have sworn to keep my people true to the ancient ways. I do not ask for favors. Why should my son’s life be of any greater value than the lives of other children already taken by this plague? I tell you simply that he is my son, and that I love him. And that he is innocent. He is not only
mine, but Tuala’s; in this she, too, is mortally wounded, she who has always been a treasured daughter of the Shining One.” In his head, Bridei heard in answer to this:
She knew from the first that you would be king. She understood what it would mean to love you.
Bridei swallowed and went on. “I tell you that, if this is the punishment that you have chosen for my failure to keep tradition, then
I must accept it. And I tell you that it rivals in cruelty the sacrifice itself, for each sees the crushing of a life new-minted, fresh and good. Such obedience as you require of me is a heavy yoke to bear. But I am king, and I will bear it.”
S
HE’D BEEN FOOLISH to identify Faolan as a bard, Ana thought. The king’s personal emissary was supposed to put Bridei’s terms to Alpin and secure the Caitt chieftain’s firm agreement not to ally himself with the Gaels. He was meant to smooth the way for her and ensure the handfasting did not occur unless the treaty was signed. Now he would not be able to do any of that. She hadn’t
liked the look in those men’s eyes, for it had seemed to spell either a summary execution or the extraction of a confession by whatever means they fancied. She’d only wanted to protect Faolan. Now they were almost at Briar Wood and, with a sinking feeling, Ana realized she was going to have to do the negotiating herself.
The pines here were as tall as towers, the slopes erratic and the ground
studded with unlikely clusterings of rocks that resembled creatures found only in tales: grinning goblin, earth-dragon, padfoot, crouching monster. Sometimes Ana thought she saw them move, extending a clawed finger, a stubby tail, a pair of unlikely furred ears. Sometimes she heard things flying overhead from tree to tree, things that were most certainly not birds, for they creaked and whined as
they passed. There were birds as well, many, many birds, all kinds. Crows perched beside the track, greeting the travelers with derisive cries. Pipits and wrens hopped among the undergrowth. Higher up, from time to time, could be heard the calls of siskin and crossbill. In the bushes were constant rustlings, and Ana saw furred creatures streak up and down the pines, their small bodies arrow-swift.
In the air countless insects buzzed and whined; no wonder birds congregated here.
The paths were certainly tricky. Often the men paused to confer before going on, even though they must be familiar with this forest. Sometimes there seemed no real track at all, just a precipitous, stony incline, or a wide patch of bog choked with fallen trees, or the narrowest of gaps between twisted, thorny bushes.
The place had a wild beauty; a dangerous beauty. She wondered how she and Faolan would have found their way.
She couldn’t see Faolan now. Alpin had insisted she ride near the front of the line, just behind him, and her bard had been relegated to the rear. At White Hill, as at the court of her cousin in the Light Isles, skilled musicians were held in high esteem, for were they not weavers of dreams
and tellers of inmost truths? The best were considered to have the ear of the gods. Attitudes at Briar Wood were evidently different. The Caitt were known as a wild and warlike people. Perhaps they had no music. Ana shivered. The broad, leather-clad shoulders of her future husband were constantly in view as she rode after him. His dark brown hair, long and thick, hung down his back, not unkempt
exactly, but suggestive of a certain quality that she had seen already in his questioning of Faolan and his crude attempts at humor. He did not seem a particularly refined sort of man. Ana wondered how many women there might be at Briar Wood and who they were. Perhaps Alpin had sisters, a mother. Some of these warriors would have wives. Perhaps they could tell her how it might be possible to tolerate
living among such men.
The forest clung thickly around the stone walls of Alpin’s stronghold. Thatched roofs came into view as the travelers crested a rise, and near them was the sudden glint of a lake, glimpsed then lost as they began to descend again. Nearer to the fortress, pine gave way to dark oak and tall elm, new leaves fresh under the spring sunshine. An image came to Ana: Faolan lying
relaxed on the sward in his shirtsleeves, and herself dipping bare feet into the stream as if she were a child set free from lessons. She marveled that it belonged to the same day as this ride, these alien warriors, these high, forbidding walls. This coarse stranger whom she must somehow train herself to tolerate. With whom she must, all too soon, share her bed.
They reached the gates, which
were swung open from within at Alpin’s shout, and entered a courtyard surrounded by stone buildings: a substantial dwelling house, a barn, places for stock and supplies and, Ana supposed, everything needed to maintain a large household in what seemed an extraordinarily out-of-the-way place. The high walls encompassed all, shutting out the forest, though here and there elms stretched their heads above
the topmost row of stones.
Alpin helped her down. Ana did not care for the way his hands lingered on her body as he did so, nor the way he grinned at her discomfiture. She stood very still, waiting for him to take his hands away. She tried not to meet his eyes. She looked past him to the other riders, no longer in a line but gathered close. Her gaze met Faolan’s. His expression struck a chill
of unease through her, for this was a man who had ever schooled his features expertly. Ana knew, because Tuala had explained it to her, that a man whose trade was spy and assassin must learn to be invisible. He may have feelings, but he learns not to let them show. Faolan was not abiding by those rules now. His eyes were bright with fury.
Ana looked away. He must learn to play the game differently.
He would need to adapt to the new rules she had set when she named him her bard and took away his authority. She had nobody to blame for that but herself.
“I am quite weary,” she said. Alpin had finally let go of her waist and was regarding her a little quizzically. Dirty, unkempt, and exhausted as she was, not to speak of her male attire, it seemed important to take the initiative early. “If
it’s possible to have the assistance of a serving woman … a quiet chamber … some hot water …”
“My own apartments are at your disposal, of course,” Alpin said smoothly. Beneath the silken tone there was a note of mockery that made Ana deeply uncomfortable.
“Thank you, but that would not be appropriate. Later, I will set out Bridei’s terms for you. But not until I have bathed, changed my clothes,
and rested. I require my own apartment. A chamber of reasonable size. A door with a bolt. And I expect my man to be well looked after. He was wounded and nearly drowned. I want your reassurance that he will be, not merely safe, but well fed and comfortably housed.”
“You are solicitous for his well-being.”
“My lord Alpin,” said Ana, “I set out from Bridei’s court at White Hill with an escort
of twelve. This man is the only one I have left. Of course I am solicitous. I will be seriously displeased if you cannot, or will not, accommodate my wishes on this matter. And on the other.” She had not expected it would be necessary to lay down the law to him, and she found her hands were shaking. Fear and anger made it increasingly hard to maintain a calm demeanor.
“A bolt, is it? That would
be on the inside?” Alpin looked around the circle of men. “Lads, she’s only known me an afternoon, and already she doesn’t trust me!” A ripple of laughter came from the warriors. “Ah, well, chances are I have forgotten how a lady should be treated. Once you’ve had your bath and we’ve consigned that outfit to the midden, perhaps I’ll find it easier to get back into the way of it.” There were serving
men and women coming from the house now, and Alpin snapped his fingers in their general direction. “Orna! This lady needs your assistance. Take her inside and see to her needs; find her a maidservant. The lady will be wanting a chamber of her own. Put her next to me.”
“Yes, my lord.” Orna was tall and broad like the men, with features every bit as forbidding. Her hair was caught back under a
linen kerchief of dubious cleanliness.
“Thank you,” Ana said politely.
“It pleases me to please you, my dear.” Alpin’s tone could only be described as uxorious, and it made her skin crawl. Finding nothing to say, she turned her back and followed Orna into the house.
SOME TIME LATER, sitting on a bench as a nervous girl combed her newly washed hair for her, Ana was forced to admit that
her future husband had indeed provided everything she had requested. Demanded. She felt embarrassed, now, at how sharp she had been. Once inside the house, which proved to be many-chambered and grand in scale, though dark and smoky, Orna had rapped out a series of orders and folk had scampered to obey them. Ana had been led to a chamber furnished with a sizable shelf bed, an oak chest for storage,
and two benches. The only window was a tiny slit and there was no hearth, but it was tolerably warm, for there were dusty woollen hangings on the walls, their patterns faded to a uniform dun color.
An iron tub was fetched, and a copious supply of water, hot and cold. Coarse soap; coarser cloths for drying. A comb, scented oils, candles in heavy holders. Herbs for the bath: chamomile and peppermint.
Lastly, this handmaid, shy and stammering. Ludha had proved adept with jug and ladle, and had scrubbed Ana’s skin until it tingled. It was wonderful to be clean at last, but not quite as wonderful as she had imagined it through the weary days of travel, when the thought of warm water and a soft bed had helped sustain her. How could she give herself up to the pleasure of the steady combing,
the feeling of fresh linen on her skin, the sweet scent of lavender against her temple, where Ludha had dabbed a drop of oil, when there was so much to worry about? The treaty; the lie she had told; Faolan. And Alpin. How could you marry a man when his touch made you cringe in disgust?
“Ludha?” Ana asked.
“Yes, my lady?” The little voice was whisper-soft. The comb moved gently, teasing out the
knots.
“The man who came here with me, Faolan, my bard—do you know where he is?”
“No, my lady. Do you wish to send for him?”
“No, Ludha.” Ana tried for authority. “Of course he cannot come here to my private apartments. I simply wish to be sure he is safe.”
“Safe?” Ludha sounded astonished. “Oh, yes, my lady, he will be quite safe here. Briar Wood is very well defended. My—” A blush. “My friend,
Foldec, says nobody could get near us here. Lord Alpin has the biggest army in the whole of the north.” Ludha fell abruptly silent.
“Tell me more,” Ana said. “This Foldec, he’s a warrior?”
“Yes, my lady.” Proud now, Ludha gave a charming smile. “An archer in my lord’s forces. He’s away just now in the west. Foldec’s had his warrior marks three years already; he earned them when he was just fifteen.”
“He must be very brave,” Ana said with a smile of encouragement.
“Oh, yes, my lady.”
“And what do you do while you’re waiting for him to come home, Ludha?”
“Sewing, my lady. There are plenty who can do the plain jobs, hemming and mending, tunics and other gear for the men. But I was taught by my mother; she was seamstress to a lady. They give me all the fine work.”
“Did you make this?” The
clothing Ana had been given was plain but of good quality, a tunic and skirt of fine wool dyed russet, with borders of embroidered flowers. There had been smallclothes as well, and soft kidskin slippers.
“No, my lady. Orna found those in store. They’re from a girl who used to live here, a maidservant to Lord Alpin’s first wife.” Ludha faltered. “Sorry, my lady,” she muttered.
“No need to apologize,”
Ana said. “I know Lord Alpin was married before. Tell me, has he any family, apart from the natural son they speak of, who I understand does not live here at Briar Wood? I know there were no children of that first marriage, but perhaps Alpin has sisters or brothers?”
Unaccountably, Ludha flushed scarlet. “I don’t rightly know, my lady.” She busied herself with the comb once more; this time she
was less careful, and Ana winced.
“I’ll finish that, Ludha. I’m used to doing it for myself. I hope you’ll show me your work sometime; I have a particular interest in embroidery. I had a collection of little shirts and other garments for a baby. They were all lost at the river crossing when my escort was swept away. It shouldn’t matter, against the loss of so many lives, such a thing becomes
quite trivial. But it made me sad, all the same. There was a great deal of love in those stitches.”
Ludha nodded in sympathy. “Yes, my lady. Still, a mother loves her child even if she has only rags to put him in. At least, that’s what I think.”
Abruptly, Ana found herself on the verge of tears. “Yes, well,” she said briskly, “perhaps you and I will do some sewing together. As you see, I have
nothing at all to wear. Nothing of my own.”
“It would be a pleasure to help, my lady,” Ludha said.
“Where would I begin finding out about bolts of cloth and suchlike?”
“Talk to Orna,” Ludha said. “She seems fierce, but she’ll help you all she can. All of them will. All of them are saying …” She hesitated.
“What are they saying?”
“It’s not my place to repeat it, my lady, but they’re saying
a new wife for my lord Alpin might be the best thing that’s happened here for years. Orna does everything in the house. She gives all the orders. But even she would rather be working for a lady. And we could see that was what you were from the first glance.”
Ana thought about this. “Were you here when Lord Alpin’s first wife was alive, Ludha? Can you tell me about her?”
“I came here after she
was gone, my lady. Had to find a new place for myself when my mother was taken by an ague. Orna hired me, seeing the fine work I could do.”
“I’m sorry about your mother. Are there many people here who knew her? His first wife?”
Ludha was suddenly busy with tidying the accoutrements of the bath, folding cloths, anything she could set her hand to.