Foxmask (46 page)

“It is not always sad,” Keeper said. “The hunt is but once a year, and over quickly. We have long times of calm. Winters are hard; sometimes he is sick, coughing and choking, and that troubles me. But good times too. After the hunt we can walk our island freely, without fear of attack. The Isle of Clouds is a place of beauty and holds many wonders. A forest of stone; a perch as high as an eagle's nest. Creidhe?”

“Yes?”

“I have tried to teach him, to show him how to fend for himself. Tried to remember to talk to him, so he can learn words. Sometimes I forget; sometimes I think he cannot learn. I can protect him from Asgrim's men; I can keep him safe from attack. But what if I fell from a height, or drowned while fishing? What if I took an illness and died? Then he would be all alone. You say I have done wrong somehow, that he is not like other children. Then I have failed him, and I have failed my sister. This makes me sad; it makes me afraid.”

Creidhe reached out, put her hands around his. “No,” she said. “I was mistaken. In you he has the best example he possibly could.” She forced tears back; this was not a time to be weak. “You love him, and you are strong. You understand the island and the patterns of survival in this place; that, you
surely can teach him. And . . . if I am here long enough, I can help a little. Maybe I can teach him to talk, and some other things. I could try, anyway. If you were happy with that.” Despite everything, despite Thorvald and Sam and all she had left behind, there was no choice in this.

His mouth curved in a smile. “Happy, yes,” he said, eyes sliding away from hers in what seemed a sudden, inexplicable attack of the same shyness that had beset him earlier. She still held his hands between hers; now he moved his fingers to the outside, so his larger hands enveloped her smaller ones, and she felt the strength in them, a warrior's strength.

Light was filtering in through the entry; the moon was rising. They sat in silence, hands locked together, as the shadowy space turned silver-gray about them. Keeper's face, ever pale, now seemed suffused with an unearthly glow, his eyes strangely bright, his skin translucent with light. Creidhe could see from the wonder in his face that she, too, had been transmuted thus; it was as if he saw a goddess before him. Her breath faltered.

A song came lilting through the silence, a song of such magical purity Creidhe wondered for a moment if Keeper's eyes told the truth and some spirit of the night had indeed chosen to honor them with its presence. The notes rose in a great, perfect arch, aching in their intensity, and hung in the air, sounding from rock and bush and hillside, echoing from ocean and moon and star, then falling away in wondrous cascade to ringing silence. And again the song rose, stopping the heart, flooding the eyes with tears, bathing the spirit in a balm of deep wisdom. As the singing went on, the brightness in the shelter intensified, pulsing, glowing, radiant and strong. Creidhe was aware of Keeper rising to his feet, and of the two of them walking together out to the open. They stood there hand in hand, watching the full moon move up the pale summer sky in shining certainty; watching Small One as he sat cross-legged on the rocks, eyes fixed on that disc of light. Watching and listening as Small One offered his wondrous, wordless anthem to the beauty of this celestial spirit, made his music for her solemn dance. Keeper's arm crept around Creidhe's shoulders, hers around his waist. They stood in utter silence as the melody rose and fell again, noble, sweet, full of ancient power.

The wind had died down; the island was quite still, not a rustle, not a cry. The dark water of the western ocean shone in the strange light, glittering and perilous. It seemed to Creidhe such a song must reach to every corner of the world: to Asgrim among his warriors, dreaming of the hunt; to Thorvald and Sam, wherever they were; to the Unspoken, sick with longing for their seer's return. It seemed to her such an anthem of loveliness must reach even
as far as the Light Isles, and beyond. If she had ever doubted Small One's abilities, she doubted them no longer. Perhaps he would never learn human speech; perhaps never play as other children did. After this, that seemed of no account at all.

The song drew to a close, falling away in a ripple of decoration, a filigree of little notes swirling around the great strong cadence of it. Small One gave a huge yawn and blinked. Creidhe and Keeper moved apart; neither, perhaps, had been aware of how they had been standing, bodies pressed close, arms wrapped, until now.

“Rest,” Keeper said, picking up the child. Small One put his arms around the young man's neck and his head against his breast as if he were an ordinary lad tired out after a day's fun and games, and not a powerful vessel for the moon's ancient voice. “Time for bed.”

The child was asleep the moment he put his head down. Then Keeper looked at Creidhe in the firelight, eyes liquid, dangerous, and Creidhe looked back at him unblinking, though the music of her heart was wild and urgent. After a moment he turned away, retreating to the other side of the fire pit to unroll his blanket, and Creidhe settled to sleep by Small One. The song was finished, but in the soft moonlight that touched their slumber, the memory of its power and beauty still lingered.
This is eternal: ever changing, ever the same. The song calls me forth, and bids me farewell. I die and am reborn. I sing the pattern, whole, clean, pure; I sing the One Story
.

With a certain difficulty, for they were no longer young, the two hermits carried Colm home on a board and laid him to rest not far from the garden he had tended with such energy and love. Breccan found words for prayer; Niall stood with head bowed and palms together, and the fair, peaceable cadences warred in his mind with other, darker thoughts, thoughts that were less of sorrow and acceptance than of blood and revenge. Afterward Breccan gave him a cup of ale, made him drink it, poured him another.

“You wish to render me senseless in order to save me from myself?” Niall asked his fellow hermit, not meeting his eye.

“No, old friend. I merely hope to loosen your tongue a little. Primitive means perhaps, but I, too, am weary and sad. God has gathered our young companion home; Colm is in the best of hands now. Still, I feel his loss, and the girl's terrible fate among the Unspoken. Man's wickedness is strong in this place; at such times doubt assails me. It is not so difficult for me to understand
your thoughts. We've known each other a long time. You should talk. This is best not kept within.”

“It is a curse,” Niall said, staring into his ale. His face was expressionless. “All that I touch turns to dust. It is a darkness I bring with me. I thought on these remote isles to escape it, but it seems I cannot do so. I thought, by inaction, I might hold to what I promised, that I might wreak no more havoc in the world. A contemplative life seemed safe. But it follows me wherever I go, this shadow from the past; there is no place where I can hide from it. What do you think? Is this some devil I carry within me? I've never had time for such fancies, you know that well enough. Had I your faith, this would be simple. To trust implicitly in a deity of love and forgiveness is to smooth one's path greatly; one abrogates responsibility that way. I would do that if I could. But a man cannot feign belief; he cannot pretend faith.”

“Such times, such losses are by no means easy,” Breccan said gravely, “even for a man who knows God's mercy. Believe me, one remains entirely accountable for one's actions: more so, in fact. You think I am untouched by grief or guilt for what has occurred? I saw Creidhe assaulted. I'm an able-bodied man, Niall. Do you imagine I do not ask myself, could I have done more? Could I have saved her? Do you think I do not wrestle with my conscience over the decision to take her away from here, risking attack in open country? Still, it is true, God's love sustains me through my times of doubt and darkness. As it does you, my friend, whether you know it or not. You do not recognize how much you have changed over these years of exile.”

“That's just it,” Niall said in a whisper. “I haven't changed at all. I've simply improved my self-control. I know the solutions, I ache to put them in place, every part of me screams,
Act, act now, take control here and put it right
. But I must not act. I've shown once before what I could do, what power I could wield, and what it led to. I swore I would take a different path. I will not break that oath.”

They sat awhile by their small fire; the ale jug slowly emptied. Outside, the sky was dimming to the eerie half-dark of the summer twilight, and a full moon hung above the sea, pale and lustrous.

“You know,” Breccan observed, “there's a flaw of logic in your argument.”

“Yes,” said Niall.

“What is it that triggers this curse of yours? Action or inaction? What is it you're supposed to have done wrong? We could hardly have refused to shelter the girl, knowing what we do of Asgrim. It was I who took her away, not yourself. It was Colm who volunteered to walk over to the encampment.
I don't think you can claim to be the sole cause of this particular disaster, Niall.”

“No,” said Niall, “perhaps not. But I ask myself, why did Creidhe and her friends come to the Lost Isles in the first place?”

“Ah. The past follows us. True, certainly, and the past cannot be remade. You would do well to remember that, and to remember that you are not the same man who came to this shore long years ago, nor yet the same man who once confronted Asgrim with the truth of his wickedness and was shunned ever after. I do not forget how you welcomed myself and young Colm; how you provided for us despite your own evident desire to dwell entirely in solitude. God's grace worked in you then, Brother; it does so now. He has touched you despite yourself.”

“You think?” The tone was bleak.

“I know it, my friend. Now, enough of this. We should not dwell on the past, save to learn the lessons it has for us. We can, however, influence the future. Somewhat against my better judgment, I believe this is a matter we cannot simply let slide.”

Niall glanced sharply at him, dark eyes suddenly alert. “What are you proposing? That we convert Asgrim to a man of peace?” His tone was caustic.

“I would not go so far as to suggest that,” Breccan said mildly. “Only God can perform such a feat. However, I am not prepared to let Colm's murder pass without at least expressing my outrage to the probable perpetrators. I also believe Creidhe's abduction should be reported formally to Asgrim in his role as Ruler of the Lost Isles; never mind that he doubtless knows already, there is a correct way for such things to be done, and it's time he was reminded of that. The boy did not deserve such a cruel end. Creidhe should have been offered the Ruler's protection, not scared into flight. We owe it to them to tell Asgrim as much, I think.”

“You would go to Council Fjord, after what has happened?”

“He's not likely to make an end of all three of us,” Breccan said dryly. “I thought we'd catch the lads tomorrow on the way over from Brightwater. Walk with them. That makes an attack less likely. What do you think?”

Niall was silent. It was the intense silence of a man who longs to say yes, and fights with the inner conviction that he must say no.

“Besides,” Breccan added quietly, “we owe it to Creidhe's friends, the two young men, to let them know our version of what happened. We could speak to them of her time with us. Such small details can be of some comfort, you know. We should see them, I am sure of it.”

Niall stared at the earthen floor. “Asgrim will never let us in,” he said
flatly. “He fears our influence over the men. We wouldn't get past the outer perimeter of the camp.”

“Come now,” Breccan said, “with your talent for deviousness, I'm sure you can think of a way.”

Niall gave a bleak smile. “No doubt I can,” he said grimly. “But I think it's you who are the devious one, Brother.”

The two lads had no particular allegiance. They were ten or eleven years old, expert fishermen and bird catchers, and they wrote their own rules. As providers of food and bearers of messages they had earned themselves a degree of safety on the island, for the fact was, they were indispensable. When Niall and Breccan walked into Asgrim's camp around midday they had the boys close by them, so close that any act of violence toward the brothers was likely to injure a lad as well. Besides, Breccan had a fine joint of mutton over his shoulder and Niall bore a round of goat's cheese, and Asgrim's men were hungry. That did not stop two enormous guards from stepping onto the path in front of them, thrusting spears pointed at chest level.

“Where do you think you're going?” Skapti growled. “No admittance to the camp!”

“Especially not to your kind,” rumbled Hogni. “You boys, off with you, the Ruler's got a message for Gudrun, wants it taken straightaway.”

The lads, paid in advance with a promise of more to come, did not move. Niall and Breccan stood silent. Other men were approaching now from farther down the path.

“What do you want anyway?” demanded Skapti.

“The Ruler won't see you,” Hogni said. “Nothing's changed. No need for prayers here, we've got no time for them.”

“We're here to see the two men from the Light Isles,” Niall said crisply. “Thorvald and Sam. Are they close at hand?”

He expected an immediate refusal. They had never been admitted to Asgrim's camp before; even the settlement at Brightwater had been forbidden ground in recent years, though that had not stopped them from going there in the Ruler's absence. But to Niall's surprise, mention of the two young men seemed to change things. One guard looked at the other; they muttered under their breath.

“Will you ask Thorvald if he will see me?” Niall inquired politely. “I'm happy to wait here, and to accept his answer.”

More muttering, in which the names Asgrim and Thorvald could both be
heard. It was not possible to see ahead into the encampment, for the bulk of the two big men and others who had come up behind them blocked the way.