Heart's Blood (23 page)

“I slept badly.That’s nothing new. Yes, it was a strange day. It wasn’t the host that most disturbed me, it was the way Cillian managed to find me, just when I was starting to feel safe. When Tomas and Orna first sheltered me, I told them I was running away and expected to be followed. It’s hard to believe they would tell him where I was.” Even in this quiet chamber, with this kindly man as my only company, the words did not come easily. “It had been quite bad, at home, before I came here,” I made myself say.“It took me a long time to be brave enough to leave. I was so terrified he’d drag me back, I hardly thought to be afraid of the host.”

The fire was blazing now. Magnus set the kettle on its hook. “If that fellow’s typical of your kinsfolk, you’re best off without them, in my opinion,” he said. “What is he to you, Caitrin? A cousin? How was he able to get away with those acts of violence?”

“His mother is a distant cousin of my father’s. Before Father died, I hardly knew them. And afterwards ... well, they came to look after me, at least that was what they said, and ... I don’t want to talk about it, Magnus.”

Magnus was frowning.“The situation sounds irregular at the very least, Caitrin. Why don’t you have a word with Rioghan? He knows all about the law. Explain it to him and ask what he thinks. Sounds like something’s wrong to me.”

I would never go back to Market Cross. Never. So it didn’t matter what advice Rioghan had, since I would not be acting on it. “I’ll talk to him some time,” I said. “Not today. After yesterday’s disruptions, I need to spend all day in the library.”

 

So early in the morning, the light was barely adequate for writing. I busied myself preparing a broad-tipped goose-feather quill and scoring a fresh sheet of parchment.As the sun rose higher and the chamber grew brighter, I set these items aside—they were not for my use. I got out my own quill and ink, and took up the task of copying my most recent document listing from wax tablet to parchment. I had filled the tablet five times over now, transcribing each list in turn when the wax surface was covered, then erasing and beginning again. It was a thankless, tedious task.All I wanted to do was plunge frantically into the Latin documents in the quest for spells and charms. Common sense prevailed. I must maintain the catalogue as I progressed, or as soon as I left Whistling Tor the library would descend into its old chaos. I wrote quickly, using a common hand. There was no need for this work to be finely executed; it just had to be legible.

From time to time I was aware of a whisper of feet on the flag-stoned floor, a shadowy movement at the corner of my eye, but when I glanced up there was nobody to be seen. I knew they were there watching me. “I’m working as fast as I can,” I muttered, acutely aware that the real work still lay before me. If the truth about Nechtan’s sorcery lay in this library, it would be in those Latin documents. I glanced at the chest that held the obsidian mirror. From within the squat form of the box I could feel the malign power of the artifact.
Use me. If you want the answers, use me.

I completed the pen and ink list, wondering if I would see Anluan at all today. Yesterday had felt like a turning point, and I wished I had not upset him at supper. I remembered his fingers against my arm, when I had thought to leave him and Muirne in the kitchen, and the way I had responded as a harp string does to the touch of a bard.

I used the wooden handle of my stylus to erase the markings on the wax tablet, rubbing hard enough to melt the wax slightly, then smoothing over the surface. When it was done, I set stylus and tablet beside the quill I had readied earlier.The library felt very empty. I wished I had borrowed Fianchu for the day as well as the night.The big hound’s company would have been welcome.

I walked over to the window and peered out. Irial’s garden was deserted save for the usual bevy of small birds in the stone bowl.A stroll once around the path would get my thoughts under control; then I’d go back to work.

The day had warmed and the garden was full of soft colors: gray-green, muted violet, blushing rose, palest cream. It seemed to me that the man who had created this sanctuary with such care had left something of himself behind in its quiet corners. As I walked I felt tranquillity seeping into my bones. And yet, Irial himself had given in to despair. It didn’t seem right.

“Why would you do it?” I murmured.“Couldn’t you see what you still had?” His young son; his most loyal of friends; his adoring household; this garden where lovely things still grew and flourished, even though Emer was gone. Could a man love a woman so much that, without her, everything else in his world ceased to have meaning? That was extreme. How cruel to leave Anluan all alone to deal with everything, the Tor, the host, the curse ...

As if I had summoned him with my thoughts, the chieftain of Whistling Tor walked in through the garden archway and halted when he spotted me under the birch tree. He was freshly shaven and his hair had been combed, perhaps washed.The light caught the red of it, a dark flame amid the muted shades of the garden. He’d changed his clothes, too; the shirt he had on was one I had mended recently, using a thread that did not match.

“You were talking to someone.” Anluan glanced around the empty garden.

“Only to myself. Not that there haven’t been folk about, both last night and this morning. Folk from the forest, I mean.”

Anluan limped towards me, pausing by the clump of heart’s blood.“It’s put on new growth,” he observed, glancing down. “Caitrin, if you wish them to leave you alone, just tell me.”

“No, it’s fine. I made them an undertaking and it’s fair that they should keep an eye on me to be sure I carry it out as best I can.They don’t seem particularly monstrous.There was a child last night, no more than five years old ... Could you stay in the library awhile this morning? I need your help with something.”

“I’m at your disposal.After my abrupt departure last night, I can hardly offer less.”

“You are chieftain here,” I said. “You can do what you like. And last night was partly my fault. I spoke without thinking, and I’m sorry. I’m glad you came this morning. Shall we go in?”

There was a certain awkwardness when he saw the writing materials set out on one of the cleared tables. I saw a familiar tightening of the jaw, a flinty look in the eyes. I spoke before he could. “All you need to do is try something for me. Just a slightly different way of holding your quill. It’s not much to ask.” But it was; that was quite plain on his face.

“There is no need for me to write, poorly or otherwise,” he said, an edge in his voice. “You are the scribe; you are at Whistling Tor to do what I cannot.”

“Perhaps I can do what’s required here by the end of summer and perhaps I can’t,” I said quietly.“But after I’m gone you’ll still keep on studying, as it’s clear you’ve been doing for years.You’ll still need to make notes, to transcribe things, to prepare documents of your own. Think of this as an experiment, as much for my own interest as anything. Please sit down. It will help if you take off your cloak.”

He removed it awkwardly, fumbling with the clasp one-handed. I did not help him.

“I’ve seen left-handed scribes before,” I told him as he sat at the work table.“They all hold the pen the way you do, with the hand curved around. I’ve been wanting to try something like this.You need not change from your usual script, but we’re going to hold the stylus differently, like this.”

“But ...” Anluan began a protest, then fell silent as I moved to stand close behind him, leaning over his left shoulder to guide his arm and hand into the correct position. Teaching a person to write is a very particular task; it cannot be done without a high degree of physical closeness.This is especially so when the tutor is a small person like me and the student a tall, well-built one. The stance required to control the movement of Anluan’s arm and hand brought my cheek close to his and pressed my body against his back.The sensation that swept through me, warm and heady, was not at all appropriate to the situation of teacher and pupil. I felt the blood rush to my face, and was glad Anluan’s attention was on the tablet and stylus.

“It seems wrong, I know,” I told him. “But it feels more comfortable, doesn’t it? Now you’re holding the stylus just as I would with my right hand.”

“I cannot write this way. How can I form the letters?”

“Ah. Here’s where the simple trick comes in. We’re going to turn the tablet sideways.” I moved the wax tablet so that what would have been the top left-hand corner was now at the bottom left, nearest to his writing hand. “I hope you’ll prove my theory correct, Anluan. I want you to try writing from the bottom of the page to the top, instead of left to right. It will require some concentration. Write the letters o, t and g while I’m guiding your hand, and then I’ll leave you to experiment while I do some of my own work.”

Anluan clutched the stylus as if it might attack him.

“Gentler.” I eased his cramped fingers.“Looser. Imagine you’re touching something soft, a cat’s fur, a baby’s fine shawl.That’s it. Form the letters exactly as you usually do. See, your hand is out of the way, and there will be no smudging when you move on to pen and ink. Good! Try a whole word.”

“What should I write?” His jaw was clenched tight.There was a pink flush in his cheeks.

“Whatever you like.” I straightened up and moved back a step. My heart was thumping. That had felt altogether too pleasurable. “Keep practicing. Later you can try it on parchment.”

“That would be a waste of expensive materials.” He glanced at the sheet I had prepared for him, the new quill, the ink pot.

“Don’t tell me you never learned how to scrape down your parchment for reuse.”

“I know how. But—”

“I’ve given you a diluted ink.”

“All the same—”

“Please,” I said.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw his uneven mouth curve into a smile.“Very well,” he said.“I accept your challenge.” He applied himself to his work, but the smile hovered, softening his features.

Time passed. I translated a document in which Nechtan did nothing but rant about his neighbor, Maenach, and another in which he methodically listed the number of lambs, calves and piglets born on his home farm that spring.Then I spotted the name Aislinn.

The dark mirror called me. I glanced at Anluan; he had set down the stylus and was trying ink and parchment, using the new quill to write from bottom to top along the lines I had scored for him. His hair fell forward, the deep red strands emphasising the pallor of his face.The blue eyes were intent on his work, and he was using his weak right hand to hold the parchment steady.The angle of the quill was good; not perfect, but good. I saw purpose and hope in every part of him, and for a moment it made my breath falter. What had I done here? How had I dared awaken something so fragile in this place of overwhelming sadness?

I turned Nechtan’s document face down without reading any further. I pushed it over to the far edge of my work table, beyond easy reach, then took up the next sheet of ancient parchment.

And, further down the page, this:

“But you didn’t,” I murmured, setting that leaf on top of the other. “You couldn’t.”

“What was that?” Anluan set his quill down and flexed the fingers of his writing hand.

“Nothing. May I look at your work?”

“Of course.You are the teacher.”

I did not insult him with exaggerated praise, though my heart lifted when I saw how well he had absorbed the lesson. As for the fact that he had chosen to practice his script by writing my name—it was on the page three times, each version slightly more regular—that set a warm glow in my heart quite out of proportion to its cause. “Does this feel easier?” I asked. “It’s much more pleasing to the eye.”

“It is better, yes, and my hand hurts less.”

There was something in his tone that made me look at him more closely, seeing what I had missed a moment ago: the smudges under his eyes, the pallor, the droop of the shoulders. “Good work,” I said, keeping my tone light. “That’s enough for now. Ideally, you’d write a page a day with this method, until it came to you without thinking.”

“I must go,” Anluan said abruptly, rising to his feet. “Since I’ve sent Magnus down the hill for the morning, I’ll need to help Olcan with some work on the farm.” He hesitated on the threshold, cloak over his arm.“You look astonished, Caitrin. Cripple as I am, I am not entirely incapable.” Before I could frame a reply, he was gone.

I worked on until hunger drew me to the kitchen, where I assembled a meal of bread and cheese and ate it at the table. I remembered a stray dog Maraid had taken in once, a cowering, wary animal whose past had obviously not been a happy one. My sister had befriended it, using food, warmth and kind words. After a little, the dog took to following her about slavishly; it plainly adored her. But it was never quite at ease. It would cringe at the sound of a spoon dropped on the floor or a sudden sneeze. It would burst into frenzied barking when strangers came to the door. After some months the creature fell foul of a passing cart and was killed; we never knew how long it might have taken to learn trust. If too much harm has been done, perhaps that lesson becomes impossible. Remembering, I saw something of both Anluan and myself in that sad creature.