The Bitterbynde Trilogy (68 page)

The carlin's activities were hidden in the gloom beyond the firelight, but a sudden, whistling, inhuman cry of pain escaped the newcomer, waking Tom Coppins. Maeve had set straight a broken limb and was now binding it with splints. When all was finished, the swanmaiden lay quivering in the farthest corner from the fire, hidden beneath the folds of her feather-cloak.

‘Pallets everywhere,' muttered Maeve, leaving the dirty pots on the table. ‘I shall have to take a bigger cottage next year.'

‘You heal creatures of eldritch, madam?' Imrhien's voice was still soft, like the hissing of the wind through heather.

‘Hush. Do not speak thus, when such a one is nigh. I heal who I can where and when I am able. It is a duty of my calling—but by no means the beginning and end of it.' Maeve fingered the brooch at her shoulder; silver, wrought in the shape of an antlered stag. ‘Carlin are not merely physicians to humankind. The Coillach Gairm is the protectress of all wild things, in particular the wild deer. We who receive our knowledge from her, share her intention. Our principal purpose is the welfare of wild creatures. To protect and heal them is our mandate—care of humans is a secondary issue. Go to bed.'

‘I have another affliction. You are powerful—mayhap you can help me. Beyond a year or two ago, I have no memory of my past.'

‘Yes, yes, I suspected as much. Do you think I haven't been scratching my head about that? But it's a doom laid on you by something far stronger than I, and beyond my power to mend. For the Coillach's sake, come away from the mirror and go to bed. You're wearing out my glass. Don't go near her, that feathered one—she is afraid of most people, as they all are, with good reason.'

The saurian jumped back onto the carlin's lap. She scratched its upstanding dorsal plates as it circled a couple of times before settling.

‘I would have liked something less armoured and more furry,' she murmured, looking down at it, ‘but bird-things would not come near, if I had a cat. Besides, Fig gave me no choice. He chose
me.'

It was difficult to sit still inside the house of the Carlin, within walls, and to know that Thorn walked in Caermelor, in the Court of the King-Emperor. Now the renewed damsel was impatient to be off to the gates of the Royal City. At the least, she might join the ranks of Thorn's admirers, bringing a little self-respect with her. She might exist near him, simultaneously discharging the mission she had taken upon herself at Gilvaris Tarv: to reveal to the King-Emperor the existence of the great treasure and—it was to be hoped—to set into motion a chain of events that would lead to the downfall of those who had slain Sianadh, Liam, and the other brave men of their expedition.

Maeve, however, was not to be swayed.

‘You shall not leave here until the healing is complete. Think you that I want to see good work ruined? Settle down. You're like a young horse champing at the bit. Even Fig's getting ruffled.'

The lizard, dozing fatly by the fire, adeptly hid its agitation. In the shadows the swanmaiden stirred and sighed.

Three days stretched to five, then six. The weather raged again, battering at the walls of the cottage.

At nights a nimble bruney would pop out from somewhere when it thought the entire household asleep, and do all the housework in the two-roomed cot with amazing speed, quietness, and efficiency. Under Maeve's instructions the girl feigned sleep if she happened to waken and spy it. Its clothes were tattered and its little boots worn and scuffed. When it had finished, it drank the milk set out for it, ate the bit of oatcake, and disappeared again, leaving everything in a state of supernatural perfection.

Tom Coppins, the quiet lad with great dark eyes, was both messenger and student to the carlin, performing errands that took him from the house, aiding her in preparing concoctions or helping her treat the ailments and vexations of the folk who beat a path to her door; everything from gangrene and whooping cough to butterchurns in which the butter wouldn't ‘come', or a dry cow, or warts. Someone asked for a love potion and went away empty-handed but with a stinging earful of sharp advice. From time to time Maeve would go outside to where her staff was planted in the ground and come back carrying leaves or fruit plucked from it—potent cures. Or she would tramp out into the woods and not return for hours.

More and more, the carlin allowed Imrhien to wield her voice; it was exhilarating to converse freely; such a joy, as if the bird of speech had been liberated from an iron cage. Little by little she told her story, omitting—from a sense of privacy if not shame for having been so readily smitten—her passion for Thorn.

When the tale had been recounted, the old woman sat back in her chair, rocking and knitting. (‘I like to be busy with my hands,' she had said. ‘And it sets folk at ease to see an old woman harmlessly knitting. Mind you,
my
needles are anything but harmless!')

‘An interesting tale, even if you have left out part of it,' Maeve commented. Her patient felt herself blush. Maeve's perceptiveness was disconcerting. ‘So now you still have three wishes, eh? Isn't that right? That's how it usually goes—yan, tan, tethera. No, there is no need to reply. You wish for a history, a family, and something more—I see it in your eyes. Mark you—remember the old saw,
Be careful what you wish for, lest—'

‘Lest what?'

‘
Lest it comes true.'

The carlin completed a row of knitting and swapped the needles from hand to hand.

‘Now listen,' she continued. ‘I do not know who you are or how to get your memories back, but I do ken that this house, since five days ago, is being watched.'

‘Watched? What can you mean?'

‘I mean, spied upon by spies who do not know they have been spied. And since they began their enterprise not long after you arrived, I deduce that it is you they are after. Nobody gets past my door without my allowing it—the world knows that. Therefore, these observers must be waiting for you to come out. What think you of that, eh? Are they friends of yours, wanting to protect you, or are they enemies?'

It was like a sudden dousing in icy water. All that had happened to Imrhien since her arrival at the carlin's house had driven out thoughts of pursuers. Now the recent past caught up with a jarring swiftness. These spies might be henchmen of the wizard, the slandered charlatan Korguth the Jackal—but more likely they were Scalzo's men who had somehow tracked her down. She had been traced right to the carlin's door! If they had come this far, across Eldaraigne in search of her, or if they had sent word of her approach by Relayer to accomplices in Caermelor or even at the Crown and Lyon Inn, then it was obvious they were determined to catch her before she went to the King-Emperor explaining her detailed knowledge of Waterstair's location. Danger threatened. Desperate men might resort to desperate methods to prevent her from reaching the Royal City.

The carlin's eye was fixed intently upon her guest.

‘How do you estimate these watchers? Take care with your reply. A false decision might bring disaster. What comes next depends on what you say now. Your tongue is new to you. Use it wisely.'

‘I think they are evil men,' the girl replied slowly, ‘men who wish me ill; brigands led by one called Scalzo, from Gilvaris Tarv, who slew my friends. They will try to stop me from reaching the Court.'

‘That may be the case. I am not in a position to judge. If 'tis true, then it is perilous for you to depart from here unprotected. With this in mind I have already asked my patient Whithiue to lend you her feather-cloak so that you might fly out in the guise of a swan and send the cloak back later. She would not hear of it of course, but it was worth a try—she and her clan owe me many favours. Yet I have another plan. If those who watch are your enemies, then they will know you chiefly by your hair and by your name. My advice is this—when you set out for the Royal City, go not as Imrhien Goldenhair. Go as another.'

The needles clattered. A ball of yarn unrolled. The lizard watched it with the look of a beast born to hunt but restrained by overpowering ennui.

‘Change my name?'

‘Well, 'tis not your name, is it? 'Tis only a kenning given you. One kenning is as good as another. I'll think of something suitable to replace it, given time. But you
cannot
go to Court with that
hair
and not be noticed. By the Coillach, colleen, know you how rarely the Talith are seen? Only one of that kindred resides at Court—Maiwenna, a cousin of the long-defunct Royal Family of Avlantia. In all the lands, there are so few human beings of your colouring that they are always remarked upon. Feohrkind nobles can rinse their tresses in the concoctions of carlins and wizards and dye-mixers as often as they like, but they can never copy Talith gold. Their bleached heads are like clumps of dead grass. No, if you want to mingle unmarked, you must change the colour of your hair as well as your kenning. And for good measure, go as a recently bereaved widow and keep that face covered.'

‘You know best,' said Imrhien slowly in her whispering tones, ‘for I know nothing of the ways of the King-Emperor's Court. But who would recognise the face I wear now?'

‘Folk from your past, haply.'

‘Then that would be wonderful! I should meet my own folk, discover all!'

‘Not necessarily. Who left you to die in the rain in a patch of
Hedera paradoxis
? Not folk who were looking after your interests. Safer to remain unknown, at least until you have delivered your messages to the King-Emperor. And if you cannot tell His Majesty himself, why then you would be equally well-off to confide in Tamlain Conmor, the Dainnan Chieftain, or True Thomas Learmont, the Royal Bard. They are his most trusted advisors, and worthy of that trust, more so than any other men of Erith.

‘If you manage to leave my cottage unmarked and reach the Court, you will likely be richly rewarded, you understand. Gold coins can buy security, or at least a measure of it. When all is done and your work discharged, then you shall have leisure to decide whether to doff the widow's veil and show yourself, and risk all that goes with being Imrhien of the Golden Hair.'

‘There is good sense in what you say,' the girl admitted to the carlin.

‘Of course there is. And if you had your wits about you, you'd have thought of it yourself, but I expect you've lost them in that glass. By the way, are you aware that you speak with a foreign accent?'

‘Do I? I suppose it is Talith.'

‘No. It is like no dialect I have ever heard.'

‘Am I of the Faêran? It is said that they lived forever …'

The carlin cackled, true to type. ‘No, you certainly are not one of the Gentry. Not that I have ever set eyes on any of them, but there is naught of the power of gramarye in you. If there were, you would know it. You are as mortal as any bird or beast or
lorraly
folk. None of the Fair Folk would get themselves into such scrapes as you manage. And yet, your manner of speech is not of any of the kingdoms of Erith. Your accent's unfamiliar.'

‘The Ringstorm that encircles the world's rim—does anything lie beyond it?'

‘Let me tell you a little of the world. Some say that it is not a half-sphere but an entire orb with the Ringstorm around its waist dividing Erith from the northern half. That is why the world has two names; “Erith” for the Known Lands, and “Aia” for the three realms in one, which comprise the Known Lands, the unknown regions on the other side of the Ringstorm, and the Fair Realm. Of those three realms only Erith is open to us. Many folk have forgotten the Fair Realm. Some say it never existed at all. People believe what they can see. Furthermore, it is commonly held that nothing lies beyond the Ringstorm, that it marks the margins of the world, and if we were to pass further than that brink, we would fall into an abyss.'

‘Mayhap there is some path through the Ringstorm.'

‘Mayhap. Many have tried to find one. The shang winds and the world's storms are too much for any sea-craft. The Ringstorm's borders are decorated with broken Seaships.'

‘Mayhap there is a way through to Erith from the other side, from a land on the other side where they speak differently …'

‘Too many “mayhaps”. Let us to the business in hand.'

‘Yes! Madam Maeve, I am concerned for your safety. Should I depart hence under an assumed persona, the watchers will believe Imrhien Goldhair bides yet here, and they may keep watching for a time until they tire of it and assail your house.'

‘A good point.' Maeve thoughtfully tapped her ear with a knitting needle. ‘Ah, but if they
think
they see Imrhien Goldenhair leaving and they follow her, then find out it was a ruse and rush back here and see no sign of her, they will think she escaped during their absence. In sooth, she will have. An excellent plan—nay, ask no questions, it will all be clear to you soon. Meanwhile, I had better rouse Tom—he has errands to run for me in Caermelor. We shall need money to carry out this scheme. How much have you?'

‘Madam, please accept my apologies. Your words remind me that I owe you payment for your healing of me, and my board and lodging. What is your fee?'

‘My fee,' said the carlin, shooting a piercing glance from her bright eye, ‘is whatever those who receive my services are prepared to give.'

‘What you have given me is valuable beyond measure—worth more than all the treasure in the world.'

‘Have I given it, or was it already yours by right? Do not be thankful until you have lived with your changed appearance for a moon-cycle or two. See how you like it then.'

‘I cannot be otherwise than happy!'

‘Ha! The measure of happiness is merely the difference between expectations and outcomes. It is not concerned with what one possesses—it is concerned with how content one is with what one possesses.'

Imrhien had taken out her leather pouch. The pearls she had left in Silken Janet's linen-chest, the ruby she had given to Diarmid and Muirne, but there remained two more jewels and the few gold coins she had saved when she ran from the caravan. In glittering array she spread the stones and metal before the carlin.