When my feet ached and my back hurt, when the layers of damp clothing and the chill night air had begun to leach away my courage, when I could no longer pretend that I need not rest, I sank down in the shelter of a crumbling stone wall.The moment I stopped moving my knees began to shake. My head was dizzy. My fingers were so cramped I struggled to unfasten my bag. The clouds had thinned, and there was a suggestion of moonlight. I ate some bread and cheese from the package I’d been given and drank some water from my flask. It was too dark to tell if I was on the right track. It was too dark to read my birch-bark map.
I packed the remains of the food into the bag, my hands touching the edge of the mirror as I did so. “Now would be a good time to show me something useful,” I muttered.“A lamp, for instance, or a candle; something to light my way.” But I did not draw it out. That last vision was strong in my mind: Anluan’s gray face, his limp form; my bending, sorrowful figure holding him; and Muirne standing in the doorway with that odd, impassive look on her face. That look made my skin crawl. It was as if she had no understanding of right or wrong . . .
In a moment of insight it came to me. Aislinn. Aislinn in the obsidian mirror, watching as Nechtan performed his acts of torture. Aislinn who had learned so much from the man who had taken her under his wing: to help him in his work, to keep meticulous records, to gather and prepare the materials for ritual magic, to set aside the suffering of human and animal if that suffering could provide vital knowledge. Aislinn, whose face I had never seen, for those visions had shown her hands scrubbing, her form bending over the table, her fall of wheaten hair, but never the features that no doubt had gazed on her patron with nothing but admiration as he had taught her how to set aside her conscience.
My heart raced. Could it be? Could Aislinn have come back after death to join the host that she and Nechtan had unleashed with their flawed experiment? After that fateful All Hallows, the girl had vanished completely from Nechtan’s writings. I could not remember a single reference to her after the description of their preparations: the herbs, the wreath, the white gown, the incantation. Where had she gone? Had she perhaps thought better of the path down which Nechtan was leading her, and moved away from Whistling Tor? Or did she linger still? Muirne. Oh, God, Muirne who was as devoted to Anluan as Aislinn had been to Nechtan, Muirne who had been companion to each chieftain in turn . . . Images teased at me: Muirne adjusting cups on a shelf so they were perfectly aligned. Aislinn clearing away the debris of torture, fastidious, detached. Muirne’s veil, covering every strand of her hair—if she removed that covering, would a cascade of golden locks tumble over her shoulders and down her back? Aislinn and Muirne. It could be. And if it was, that meant Muirne had a talent nobody at Whistling Tor knew about. She could read.
The moon made a gradual appearance, revealing a landscape in many shades of gray, the path winding on, stony hillsides to either side, pale forms that might have been rocks or sheep. I must go on.The new blisters stinging my feet must wait for attention until I reached Whistling Tor. Anluan needed me. He might even now be lying sick, wounded, despairing. And if my suspicion about Muirne was right, I didn’t want her anywhere near him.
I came down a small hill and saw in the distance a bigger rise, dark on dark, with what might perhaps be a high wall at the top. Nearly there. And now, here was a side road. I took out my map and squinted at it in the moonlight.Yes, there was a grove of oaks nearby, and a single tall pine to the north. I must get off the main track here and go by this lesser way, still wide enough to accommodate a cart or a troop of mounted men-at-arms, but not well traveled. It was the way I had first come here, when I had been running so hard from my demons that I had ventured where no person in her right mind would go.When I reached the marker stone I would be following in my own footsteps.
Before I got close, the mist began to rise. In shreds and ribbons, in twisting tendrils that wrapped themselves around me as I passed, it crept up to obscure the way, turning a moonlit track into a deceptive tapestry of shifting patterns. Curse this place! Even the elements conspired to keep folk out.The memory of that day in the library returned: the blinding clouds of smoke, the panic, the struggle for breath. I willed it away. If I stayed on the edge of the track I could keep going, finding my way step by step.
Time passed; my progress was painfully slow. I held to the side where the marker stone for Whistling Tor had been and prayed that I had not gone past it unknowing. Sounds came to me through the curtains of mist, the call of an owl, something creaking, a shiver in the undergrowth as a small creature passed nearby. And then, not so very far off, I heard men’s voices, foreign voices, and a sliding, metallic noise, perhaps a weapon being stealthily drawn. Somewhere ahead of me I could see a glow, as of a cooking fire. I took two steps forward and blundered into the marker stone, cursing as I bruised my knees.A moment later, someone shouted what was unmistakably a challenge, and there came the sound of booted feet approaching.
Nowhere to hide; only the mist to conceal me. If I fled blindly off the path I would soon come to grief. If I stood here I’d be taken by the Normans. I slid the bag off my back, ripped open the fastening, grabbed the mirror.
Help me. Help me now.
I stared into the polished surface, seeking I knew not what.
Quick!
Within the metal something stirred. Before I could see what it was, a tall form loomed up, a man clad in the garment of woven metal rings that was the Norman form of armor, with a helm on his head and a spear held ready to thrust. He shouted something, and two more warriors appeared through the mist behind him. I stood there immobile, writing box on my back, mirror in my hand, staring at them. Tossing his spear to one of the others, the first man stepped up and grabbed my arm, hard enough to bruise me.The mirror fell to the ground. Bile rose in my throat; my heart knocked in terror. I would not scream. The more attention I drew, the harder it would be to get away.
The three of them were having a conversation, the gist of which was clear:
It’s only a woman. Should we let her go her own way? No, take her down there.
This couldn’t happen. It mustn’t happen. Find out that I was connected to Anluan and these Normans could use me to force his capitulation. Let them do that and I’d be making a mockery of his sacrifice in sending me away. I’d be the one responsible for his downfall.
“Let me go!” I said sharply, trying to seize the initiative. “You can’t do this! Release me right now!”
The fellow responded by tightening his grip on me. One of the others had a look in his eye that made my stomach clench with unease.They might take me to their leader and interrogate me. Or they might decide they’d like a little quick entertainment with no questions asked. The mist would provide perfect concealment.
“Let go of me!” I snarled, pulling against my captor’s hold, and one of the others cuffed me across the mouth, hard enough to rattle the teeth in my jaw. He hurled a comment at me, and they began to drag me off the road.Through the thickening vapor I caught glimpses of tents and tethered horses, neat stacks of bags that might hold supplies, poles stuck into the ground that might be for flags or pennants. Faint glows here and there suggested there was more than one fire. This was an encampment of many warriors, a substantial besieging force.Whether it encircled the Tor fully, there was no telling.At the very least, I suspected there would be guards posted at strategic points all the way around, preventing Anluan’s forces from breaking out.
We were heading for a larger tent, more of a pavilion, within which a light still burned. One of the men went ahead, stepping up to the bigger tent, calling out to someone within.
A spy. A spy in the camp. Will you question her?
Four more strides and I’d be inside the place, completely at their mercy. I had to do something.
I sank my teeth into my captor’s hand. He cursed, his grip slackening momentarily, and I turned to bolt into the mist and out of sight. One of the others reached to grab me, and then there came a strange sound, a clattering, a rattling, an eldritch whinnying.The men froze, their faces paling, as the sound became a shape and out of the obscuring curtain came a tall horse, a creature all bones, its lips stretched in a hideous grin, and on its back a red-eyed rider in a monk’s robe, his head a skull, his smile fearsome as death itself. My companions scattered in all directions as horse and rider came up beside me and halted. I balanced my writing box with one hand and reached up with the other. Eichri bent, hooked an arm around me and lifted me to the saddle before him as if I were no heavier than a child.We backed up a little.
“Hold tight, Caitrin,” the monk said, and wrapped his bony arm around me.The skeleton horse bunched itself up, then launched itself in a mighty leap. I screwed my eyes shut. I did not dare to look until I felt the uncanny steed come to ground.We were on the other side of the Norman lines.The horse raced ahead along the path and up the hill into the forest. “Did they harm you?” Eichri asked.
Slowly my heart returned to its usual rhythm. “A bruise or two, that’s all,” I said. “How did you know to come?”
“We saw you in a mirror. All right? Not going too fast for you?”
It was like racing on a pile of sticks, precarious and uncomfortable. Never mind that; I was safe. I was home. Now I must ask the question. “Eichri, is Anluan still alive?”
“Alive? Very much so.You’ve come back right in the middle of things. We have a surprise for the poxy gray shirts in the morning. At first light we’ll be down on them with everything we have. My old friend Rioghan made the battle plan, and a good one it seems to be, though the fellow won’t admit as much until it’s all over and the Normans are gone from Anluan’s land.”
Holy Saint Patrick, I had arrived on the very day of the battle. “He’ll be angry,” I said. “Anluan. He didn’t want me here. But . . .” I was becoming aware that we were no longer alone. As the horse made its way up the hill path in a shivering dance of bones, figures were appearing from under the trees, men, women and children, watching us pass. I saw the look in their eyes, proud, vindicated, full of hope and excitement, and I heard their shadowy voices.
She’s back.The lady’s back. It’s her, come home again.
“
Angry?” Eichri queried. “If he’s angry, I’ll eat my sandals. Of course, you didn’t see him when I told him you were down at the foot of the hill. He would have rushed off to fetch you himself, straight through the Norman camp, if Rioghan hadn’t made him see sense.”
“Oh.” As we clattered into the courtyard followed by a whispering crowd of spectral folk, my heart soared.
“Been a few changes since you left,” Eichri said, as his formidable mount halted.The monk swung down, then reached to lift me to the ground.
A few changes.That was somewhat of an understatement.There were people everywhere, not just the fighting men of the host, but men from the settlement, ordinary men who were working alongside the uncanny inhabitants of Whistling Tor. There was Cathaír, still in his bloody shirt, looking my way in wonder as he helped a young fellow, perhaps a farmhand, to string a bow.There were Eichri’s clerical colleagues, going in and out of the east tower, where the chapel was, with piles of folded cloths, basins and bottles.The chapel had become an infirmary; they anticipated casualties of war. There was Tomas’s wife, Orna, crossing the courtyard with a ghostly woman by her side.The moon illuminated this nocturnal activity. A single torch burned outside the main entry to the house. Despite the unusually large number of folk about, there was a hush over the place.
“I can hardly believe this,” I said, looking one way then another. “To get them all working together . . . to break down so many barriers . . . How has he done it, Eichri?”
“Cooperation. Planning. Sheer persistence. We’ve all helped him. He sent Magnus to talk to Brión straightaway, soon after you left. It turned out the local chieftains were far more worried about the Norman threat than they were about the host. Everyone had come to believe Anluan had no will to lead. When opinions were sought, they’d become used to leaving him out. Once they learned things had changed, we worked on persuading them that the host was under control now.”
The host did seem to be under control. The quiet cooperation I saw between living villagers and spectral folk made my spine tingle. “Is it true?” I asked. “Does he really have control even beyond the hill? What about the frenzy?”
“We’ve been working on that,” Eichri said. “Rioghan’s taught them ways to keep strong; so has Magnus. Of course, it hasn’t been fully tested.”
My heart sank.At dawn they would head out to confront the Norman army.The risk did not bear thinking about. “Where is Anluan?” I asked. It was the only thing that mattered right now.
“In his own quarters; he’s waiting for you there. Caitrin, you won’t have a lot of time alone. We attack before dawn. Anluan’s got work to do. And he needs rest, too. He’ll carry a heavy burden once the host leaves the hill.” Perhaps I looked surprised, for Eichri added, “Rioghan’s plan has half of the host moving down beyond the boundary to manifest within the Norman lines. Anluan must go down there with them. If the frenzy comes upon our fighting forces, he’s the only one who can hold them together. Don’t look like that, Caitrin. You have a little time. Gearróg’s on guard; he’ll make sure nobody interrupts you.”
As we walked towards the south tower and Anluan’s private quarters, my mind was full of the dark vision: Anluan lying on his pallet, I grieving, and Muirne ...What if I walked in that door and Anluan was stretched out stone dead? “Where is Muirne?” I asked.
“She’ll be here somewhere.We haven’t seen so much of her since the folk from the settlement came up the hill, when we knew the Normans were on the way. I’ve spotted her once or twice, up in the north tower or in Irial’s garden. And she’s been in the library. Doesn’t come to meals anymore, since the household suddenly expanded. And Magnus isn’t here.”