Ana stirred in his arms.
“Hush,” he said. “Keep still. We are nearly safe.”
“What—”
“You fainted. I didn’t know you were ill.”
“Oh—oh, gods, oh, I’m sorry—”
“Shh.” He shifted his position, balancing her slight weight as the horse scrambled out of the last stretch of water and began the ascent of the steep path on the other side. There was barely enough light left to show the way.
“You were singing,” Ana said quietly, as if unsure whether she was dreaming or waking.
“Me?” Faolan retorted, wondering if he had indeed
uttered those words aloud, while believing them only in his mind. “Hardly. You’re the one who does that.” He glanced down; met her gaze, the gray eyes coming back to awareness, wide and clear for all the weary shadows that encircled them. He wondered if he would be able to see them even when it was dark.
“I’m so sorry,” she said, trying to sit up. It was distasteful to her, Faolan supposed, to
find herself in his embrace, as if they were a pair of lovers sharing a horse just so their bodies could touch, press close, feel the heady warmth of it like fine mead, promising good things to come. “I’ve slowed us down,” Ana went on. “I’ll try to keep up tomorrow. I know it’s important.”
“Shh,” Faolan said again. He had heard the tightness in her voice, the pain not far below the surface. “The
men are making camp now. Time enough for decisions in the morning. And if there’s an apology to be made, it’s mine to you. I was unobservant. As leader, I cannot afford to be so. I regret that.” As apologies went, it was perhaps somewhat lacking. He had not said what he wished to say. This, however, was safe. It was what he would have said, before they crossed the river.
“We’re both to blame,”
Ana said. “And both not to blame, for it’s clear to me neither of us truly wishes to be here.”
To that, Faolan had no reply. It was no longer clear to him what the answer was.
NIGHT. THE MEN were weary, the strain of the journey beginning to tell. He divided them into three shifts to allow more rest. Those off duty fell asleep the moment they lay down by the fire. Faolan himself would
rest before dawn, while Wrad and Kinet, the men he judged most reliable, kept watch. His plan had been for an early departure, a quick ride to the next river. This must now be changed. In the darkness, he felt the cool in the air, the taste of rain. Ana lay in the shelter, a warmed waterskin against her belly. She was only pretending to sleep; he could hear in her breathing that she was wakeful
and still in pain. Creisa was dead to the world.
The night wore on. The first shift came back in and settled to sleep. The second shift went out into the darkness. There were many birds in this part of the forest; what kind they were, Faolan did not know. Something that hunted at night, owls maybe. Their cries were hollow and deep, making the hair rise on the back of his neck. There were other
sounds in these woods, odd sounds he could not place for all his knowledge of wild realms: cracklings, hissings, whisperings. He fixed his mind on the immediate dilemma: the rain, the ford, the woman who could not be asked to go on in the morning. He regretted greatly that he had no gods in whom to put his faith, no deity or spirit who might be offered a polite request to hold back the rain, just
for a day or two, so they could get safely to the edge of Briar Wood.
He had made up his mind as they crossed the ford. They must wait here for at least one day and let Ana rest. Rain or no rain, he could not let her ride on until those spasms were over. His job was not simply to travel to Alpin’s stronghold within a certain margin, it was to convey there a treasure of great worth and some delicacy.
Getting there on time but with that cargo damaged in some way was failing to execute the mission perfectly, and was therefore not to be considered. They would wait. By doing so, they would narrow the options. If one river rose, so would others. If the rain came they might find themselves trapped, unable to go either forward or back. The prickling of Faolan’s skin, the vague unease in his mind
told him they were not alone in these woods. He placed little credence in tales of Otherworld presences. Far more likely was an acquisitive local chieftain accompanied by his war band, tracking the travelers to a point of ambush.
“What’s that smell?” The voice was Ana’s; she was stirring. He saw her reach for a shawl, wrap it around herself and make her way out of the shelter, moving to sit quietly
by the fire among the huddled forms of the sleeping men. Her pale hair shone in the light of the waning moon. The fire’s glow touched to a false rosiness a face that was drained and wretched.
“One of the men had herbs in his pack, a mixture to dull pain,” Faolan told her, lifting a small pannikin from the edge of the fire where it had been cooling. “I thought this brew might help. Is it bad?”
“I’m used to it. I don’t know if I can drink. Sometimes the pain makes it hard to keep anything down.”
Faolan poured the brew into a metal cup. He said nothing.
“I’ll try it if you want,” Ana said. “I can’t sleep. Maybe it will help.”
He passed the cup across. When his fingers touched hers, he felt a shiver run through his body. He breathed slowly, trying to keep his gaze on the fire. Whatever
had happened to him, crossing the ford, it was not just unwelcome. It was intolerable.
“I’m sorry to be such a nuisance,” Ana said politely, sipping the drink. Her fingers were white-knuckled, one hand gripping the cup, the other clutching the shawl around her. Her hair was loose now, escaped entirely from its customary controls, a shimmering flow that gave her the appearance of something not
quite real: a figure from a dream. He had been traveling in her company for the best part of a turning of the moon. He had seen her often enough at court over the years since he came to Fortriu, and had thought nothing particular of her. She’d been a hostage; a girl with fair hair; Tuala’s friend. Nothing more. No concern of his. Suddenly, now, he was finding it difficult not to look at her.
“You do a lot of apologizing.” This came out despite himself.
“What do you mean?” She did not sound affronted, merely weary. She held her voice low, as Faolan had, not to wake the men.
“It would have been perfectly reasonable to ask me to halt the party so you could rest, under the circumstances. But I didn’t know. A man can’t guess these things.”
Ana gazed at him. Her eyes seemed to him deep,
secret, yet clear as a tidal pool in summer, full of mysteries. A man would be a fool to keep on looking; he risked drowning. “You think me foolish and pampered.” Ana said. “I’m well aware of that. You made it clear from the first, when you decided I needed riding lessons without asking me if I were already capable. I haven’t lived the life of a man. I have little understanding of the existence
of a person like you, one who follows his own rules and makes his own choices. But I do possess some intelligence and a modicum of common sense. I know why we need to keep moving on. I smelled the rain coming two days ago. I’ve heard the sounds in the forest. To tell you I was … indisposed … would have been unreasonable. Selfish. It would have lost us valuable time.”
Faolan regarded her. “It
will do so anyway,” he observed.
“I can ride on in the morning—” She broke off, wincing, set the cup down and put a hand to her belly.
“Nonsense,” Faolan said. “I won’t allow that. You’re plainly not up to it. You’ll need at least a day’s rest here, maybe two. You might as well have told me and saved yourself a day of discomfort.”
Ana did not speak for a little. “What did you mean,” she said
eventually, “about apologizing? I’ve been taught good manners, something you’d do well to make more use of.”
Faolan felt his lips twitching with amusement. He made himself think ahead to Briar Wood; to Alpin of the Caitt. The urge to smile left him. “I didn’t mean to offend you,” he said. “It concerns me how readily you seem to accept your lot, no matter how inconvenient, how—distasteful. You
dislike the path others choose for you, but you follow it meekly anyway. You express regret at slowing the journey, when any reasonable person would have demanded that I halt earlier today and make camp.”
“I’m a woman,” Ana said simply. “I’m of royal blood; a tradable commodity. I owe it to my kinsmen, to Bridei, to the future of Fortriu to do as I’m bid. I owe it to the gods.”
Faolan considered
this answer a while. “What would you do,” he asked her, “if you were not constrained by those things? By birth, by duty? What choices would you make? What path would you follow?”
Ana was silent a long time. Faolan busied himself with the fire, setting on sufficient wood to keep it going without creating too much of a blaze. When he looked up he saw the glint of tears on her cheeks.
“I don’t
know,” she said in a whisper. “Not this one.”
“But you don’t seek to change your direction.”
“I’ll do what is required of me.” She blinked a few times, scrubbing her cheeks, and squared her shoulders. The royal blood, Faolan thought, was never more evident than now; it shone through the tears, the drawn pallor of her face, the undressed hair and hastily donned shawl. “In my case, there is no
choice,” Ana went on. “I imagine it’s different for you. You can determine your own future. You are answerable only to yourself.”
There was no possible response to this. He could not tell her the truth. To do so was not within the rules by which he survived, the strictures that allowed him to go on. This conversation should never have begun. He thought that he had crossed the river successfully.
Now, it seemed that crossing had plunged him in over his head.
“What is it? What did I say?” She was quick. Even in the dark, she had seen something change in his face.
“You should try to sleep,” Faolan said. “There’s more of this brew; pass me the cup, I’ll refill it.”
They sat on a while in silence, save for faint snoring around them and, beyond the safe circle of firelight, the mysterious
noises of the forest. Ana held the cup in her elegant, pale hands; even after the riding, the living rough, her nails were glossy, perfect ovals. His own were broken, filthy, gnawed to the quick. A killer’s hands. There was a time when it had not been so. Once, his hands had plied a different craft.
“Who was Fionnbharr?” Ana spoke after a long silence.
Her question took Faolan unguarded and
he answered without thinking. “A traveler. He was enchanted by a woman of the
daoine sidhe
, a fairy woman, and journeyed out of this world for nine and ninety years.” Too late, he realized what question and answer had revealed.
“I see.” That was all she said. As women went, this one was remarkable in her restraint. For that he was deeply grateful.
“You know Gaelic?” he asked her, thinking that
he must guard his tongue more carefully in future.
“A few words only. We spoke the Priteni tongue at home but there were Christian monks on our home island. They were of the same origins as yourself.”
“You should sleep,” he said again. “If you need to go into the woods before you retire, I’ll keep watch for you. No need to wake the girl.”
Ana nodded. “She sleeps soundly, doesn’t she? Thank
you. When will you sleep?”
“That needn’t concern you.”
“I disagree. After all, you’re supposed to be leading this party; our safety depends on your being alert.”
After a moment he realized that she was teasing him; there was a little smile on her lips, a dimple at one corner of her mouth. Her face was still streaked with the marks of her tears. The sight was incongruous. It made him feel very
odd. Possibly she was right. What but extreme weariness could play such havoc in his head?
“I’ll sleep when the last shift goes out. As we won’t be riding on for a day, there’s plenty of time.”
“You are human,” Ana said. “You should remember that sometimes.”
“Are you giving me orders?”
“Didn’t you call me meek? The meek don’t give orders. I merely point out what may be useful. You’re the one
who is in charge here. Shall we go?”
They walked a certain distance into the forest. He waited while she disappeared to perform her private functions. At one point he flinched as a bird passed close by his face, its appearance so sudden he had not time to evade it. The creature alighted in a tree nearby, a blur of feather and shadow. Its beak was inimical, its strange, wild eye like that of a
seer in trance.
When Ana came back she said, “Did you see it? The bird, a crow or something like that. It flew so close. This place is full of presences. And we’re not even at Briar Wood yet.”
“If a bird is the worst we encounter, I’ll be content enough.”
Back at the shelter, she thanked him in the courteous way she had and retired to lie on her blankets, while Faolan remained by the fire.
He was reluctant to wake Kinet and Wrad, who had worked hard for him and were bone-weary.
“Good night,” he said quietly in the general direction of the shelter.
“Good night, Faolan.” Her voice was soft but clear. He liked the way she said his name. “May the Shining One guard your dreams.”