And, seeing that the druid was
not going to make any comment at all, Fola turned and strode off briskly to her allotted quarters, wondering if she had just set a taper to something that could in time become a raging wildfire.
“THERE,” SAID TUALA, blowing her nose on a square of linen. “I’ve cried enough tears for one evening. We all knew this time would come; really, I am so proud of what Bridei is doing it’s ridiculous
to weep over the fact that he has to go away. Ridiculous and selfish.”
“Not at all,” said Ferada, who was seated opposite her friend in the king’s private quarters at White Hill. Before the hearth, Derelei sprawled on a sheepskin mat examining a rattling ball on a string, which he had inherited from Garth and Elda’s twins. “It is absolutely natural for women to grieve when their men ride off
to war. Even more so when the woman in question possesses uncanny powers of foresight. I suspect you have seen something in Bridei’s future that troubles you, and that you are trying quite hard not to mention it to anyone.”
Tuala managed a smile. “Does it show so clearly?”
“Only to your friends. It’s all right, you need not tell me. I know you wish to present yourself to the good folk of Fortriu
as just an ordinary woman, the same as any wife and mother, with not a special talent to your name. And, as an ordinary wife and mother, you’re entitled to a few tears when your husband sets off on such a perilous expedition. It makes me extremely glad I have no man to bite my nails over, unless you count my father, and he’s survived so many battles I’ve got out of the habit of worrying about
him. I thank the gods that my brothers, at thirteen and fourteen, are as yet too young to go to war.”
“There is a particular danger to Bridei this time.” Tuala spoke very quietly. “I don’t know what it is, but there is a strong possibility that the driving out of the Gaels will be achieved at the cost of his life. I saw that in an augury Broichan cast; yet I also saw victory.”
“Did you speak
of this?”
“I told Bridei. Nobody else.”
“And still he went ahead?”
“He values the freedom of Fortriu far above his own life. I must trust that the Shining One will hold him safe in her hands, and bring him home to us when this is done.” Tuala glanced down at her son, who was holding the wooden ball very still in his hands; the thing was rattling away merrily. “Tell me what you’ve been doing,
Ferada. How’s the building progressing?”
“Very well, thank you. Oh, and that reminds me—I brought Derelei a little gift. Let me fetch it from my bag.” Ferada rose, walking over to the bundle she had stowed on the chest by the narrow window opening. Her clothing was more utilitarian than the elegant gowns of former times, and her auburn hair was dressed more plainly, but Tuala noted with a smile
that her friend’s grooming was as immaculate as ever, her posture quellingly upright. The new students would be too intimidated to set a foot wrong.
“Here,” Ferada said, fishing out a small object from the inner recesses of her bag. “I thought he might like this. Garvan made it. He’s working on some carvings for Fola just now, and he didn’t want to waste the little pieces of leftover stone. Can
I give it to Derelei?”
“Of course.” Tuala watched as her friend got down on her knees on the floor and hid the tiny horse under her skirt, making it appear and disappear until Derelei, the rattling ball abandoned, seized it in triumph with a cry of “Doggy!” Perhaps, after all, the students would not be so cowed by Ferada, not once they got to know her.
“It’s beautifully crafted,” Tuala observed,
“in keeping with the skills of the royal stone carver. Look at the little saddle cloth, all covered in tiny symbols. And the quirky expression: it reminds me of old Lucky. The creature looks as if it’s about to cackle with amusement. I had no idea Garvan possessed such a sense of humor. Nor that he had any spare time to fashion playthings for children.” She glanced from the child and his new
toy to Ferada, still on the floor. Ferada was wearing an ornament on a cord around her neck: a tiny fox carved in intricate detail. Not stone, this, but dark wood, perhaps heart of oak. Tuala was quite certain Ferada had never worn this charming miniature to court before. In the past, Talorgen’s daughter had favored jewelry in fine silver, set with precious stones.
“Has Garvan taken up wood carving
as a sideline?” Tuala asked.
Ferada’s fingers came up abruptly to cover the little vixen, then she set both hands in her lap. “Don’t make assumptions, Tuala,” she said with severity. “One can have a friend who happens to be a man, surely, without the need for folk to gossip about it.”
“Who’s gossiping?” Tuala said lightly, smiling. “I won’t say a word, I promise. What is he making for Fola,
statues of gods and creatures?”
“He’s carving symbols on an archway we’ve made linking the main Banmerren garden with the outdoor area of the new wing,” Ferada said. “My wing, that is. The major part of the stone masonry is already finished. Garvan and his assistant are doing the decoration. And some statues. It’s a big job.”
“Mm-hm,” Tuala said.
“Don’t do that!” Ferada snapped. “I’m too busy
to think about men. I never wanted them and I still don’t. I have far better things to expend my energy on.”
“I’m sorry,” said Tuala. “Really. And I didn’t mean men, just one particular man.”
“If you mean Garvan, the only woman he was ever interested in was you, Tuala. After you turned him down, he chose to put his energies into his work.”
“Turned him down? I was barely thirteen at the time;
I count myself very fortunate that Fola provided me with an alternative to marriage. At the time I thought Garvan a kindly man, and perceptive, though he could never be considered handsome.”
Ferada grinned. “Tactfully expressed, Tuala. He’s a plain-looking man; Garvan himself would be the first to admit that. Our friend Ana would say it’s not looks that count, it’s what’s inside.”
“And what
do you say?”
Ferada did not answer. Her attention had been caught by Derelei, who now lay on his stomach on the rug, both hands stretched out toward the little stone horse. Beside him, the rattle whirred quietly to itself, showing it was not quite forgotten, but the child’s attention was on the carven creature. As he beckoned, it lifted one delicate hoof, then another, tossed its head and whinnied
softly, then began to nibble experimentally at the sheepskin.
“He will do these things,” said Tuala in tones of apology.
“Did Broichan teach him this?” breathed Ferada, staring as the little creature set off at a trot around the rug where the child lay.
“Broichan is giving him the tools to control his natural abilities,” said Tuala. “Whatever I might think of the man, I recognize his wisdom
in seeing the need for that. What Derelei does, he does without thinking first. He may have exceptional skills in this craft, but that doesn’t change the fact that he’s less than two years old.”
Ferada watched with rapt attention as the tiny horse completed its circuit of the sheepskin and returned to the child’s side, nuzzling at his cheek. Derelei chuckled. A moment later his hand moved in
a controlled gesture that was startlingly not that of an infant, and the little steed was once again no more than a wondrously carven artifact of smooth stone. “Tuala,” she began cautiously, then stopped.
“Let me offer you a cup of mead,” said the queen of Fortriu. “I’ve a very fine brew here, put by for special occasions. I’ll give you a crock to take home with you. You might share it with the
stone carver; I imagine a long day with the chisel and mallet gives a man a powerful thirst.”
“Stop it!” Ferada got up to seat herself on her chair again. “Yes, let’s share a drink; there’s precious little of it at Banmerren. Your son reminds me of someone, but I’m not sure who.”
“Bridei, I imagine. His hair is just the same.”
“It’s more an impression, not anything so obvious. He may have
inherited Bridei’s curls and calm disposition, but it’s what comes from your side that’s intriguing; the skills you seem anxious not to make too public. When he’s older, Derelei’s going to ask you about his origins, Tuala. What are you planning to tell him?”
Tuala was pouring the mead into a pair of fine blueglass goblets that had been a gift from a visiting southern chieftain. “I have no answers
for him,” she said. She had never told Ferada about the pair of Otherworld visitors who had both consoled and plagued her in the years of her late childhood; how they had promised she would discover the truth about her parentage, and had snatched away that prospect when Tuala made the choice to stay with Bridei and forsake the world beyond the margins. They had been much in her thoughts of late,
since she had overheard her son prattling to what seemed to be invisible companions. Derelei had few words as yet: Papa and Mama, Broichan, a handful of others. There were two new names she had heard him use with increasing frequency, names that his infant tongue rendered as Gomma and Wooby. These, Tuala had recognized immediately. They were evidence that the Good Folk, who had toyed with her
life and Bridei’s with cleverness and cruelty, were already interfering in her son’s. Derelei was only little; for all his prodigious gifts, he was entirely vulnerable.
“I must trust Broichan to protect him while he’s growing up,” she told Ferada. “Garth is here to keep away dangers of the worldly kind, and Faolan should be back soon. The king’s druid has the power and the skills to deflect the
other sort of threat. But I do worry about my son. I’m all too aware that I have set him on a most difficult path in life. His eldritch gifts come through me. Because of my choices, he must make his way in the human world. As the king’s son he will be much in the public eye. Folk will talk.”
“You’d best send him off to the druids, if you want him to be invisible.”
Tuala frowned and hugged her
arms around herself. Derelei had rolled onto his back; he seemed to be drifting off to sleep. “I don’t want him to go away,” she said. “Bridei needs his family here. We are his strength. Even Broichan prefers that Derelei has his education at court. He actually seems quite fond of him. Almost like a grandfather. I’d never have believed him capable of that.”
“Interesting,” said Ferada. “Perhaps
it will all become easier when you have more children.”
“Not if they are like this one.” Derelei was singing to himself now, a wordless crooning in his infant voice. Although they had not seen it move, the stone horse had assumed a sleeping posture, lying down with legs tucked up and eyes closed. The rattle was vibrating softly, a handspan from Derelei’s outstretched arm.
“Well, you know what
I said before. Any small girls you and Bridei produce will be very welcome in my establishment. If their talents prove to be more magical than scholarly, I’ll pass them over to Fola.”
“You might have one or two of your own by then,” said Tuala, grinning.
“Want that mead down your neck?”
“I’d much prefer to drink it. I promise not to speak of such matters again; not tonight, anyway. It’s such
a delight to see you happy, Ferada, I can’t resist teasing you just to watch that spark in your eye, the one you had in the days before … before it all happened.” Tuala was abruptly solemn.
“Yes,” replied Ferada soberly. “It’s very odd to be saying this, but I suspect that, if she could see what I’m doing now, my mother would be quite proud of me. I’m not sure if that makes me feel glad or scared.”
“You are not like her,” Tuala said. “At least, only in good ways. In your strength and determination. And in your unerringly fine sense of style.”
Ferada’s hand was closed around the little wooden fox. “I was so afraid of her,” she said, her expression suddenly bleak. “If I ever had a daughter, how terrible if she felt like that about me.”
Tuala did not reply. Derelei was almost asleep; she
picked him up and bore him off to bed. When she returned, Ferada had refilled the two cups and was looking calmer.
“You know,” Tuala said, “that is the very first time I’ve ever heard you speak of motherhood as even a remote possibility.”
“I wasn’t serious. I plan to grow old happily alone, like Fola.”
“Uh-huh. You’ll make your own choices, that much is certain. You shouldn’t be afraid of becoming
like your mother, Ferada. You are so much yourself: strong, good, clever. A true friend.”
“Thanks,” said Ferada after a moment, in a tone of genuine surprise. “I suppose it’s Ana who will be producing children next. I wonder if she’ll come back and visit us sometime, with her handsome northern chieftain by her side and a brood of miniature Caitt warriors about her skirts.”
“I see Ana with daughters,”
Tuala said, staring reflectively into her mead.
Ferada glanced at her sharply. “You mean, because she’s the soft, feminine kind of girl? Or have you actually seen something in her future? Do you know if she is happy?”
Tuala hesitated. “I don’t know. A glimpse, something strange … I can’t tell, really. I don’t do this anymore.” She would not meet Ferada’s eye.
“Because of what you might see?
For Bridei?”
“It’s more complicated than that. I catch little things sometimes, by accident. I’m very concerned for Ana. Those glimpses I have had show her weeping, anxious, afraid. Of course, these images could be of past or present or times yet to come. And … and I saw Faolan playing a harp.”