Keeper Of The Light (25 page)

Now she had him where she could deal with him best. No one had more skill than Coiteann in the art of arousing a man. Now he would be unable to resist her, and she would make him her own. She would banish all thoughts of any other woman from his mind in such a way that he would think only of her, and desire only her, from this night forward.

But it soon became apparent that he was not responding to her at all. He lay back on the ledge and closed his eyes, and sighed as she pulled the warm furs over him, but her searching hands and caressing fingers had no effect on him at all…and after a time, she was forced to admit defeat and lie back on the cushions beside him.

It was only their first night together, she reminded herself. Some men were of little use to a woman once they’d had some wine and been taken to a warm bed. There was no changing the fact that he was entirely hers now and would always be hers. There would be time to make him love her later on—after they were married. Then their relationship would be consummated as it should.

And even if he never came to desire her, and merely stayed bound to her side the way he was now, she would still be his wife. She would still have all the status and property and prestige that went along with being the wife of the king’s champion. She had still succeeded in taking him from Rioghan…and there were always other lovers, if need be.

Beside her, there was only the sound of soft snoring.

The waning three-quarter moon was high in the sky when the door of Donaill’s house swung silently open and a small figure in black crept inside.

The house was dark and cold and lonely, even though two figures lay close together in the furs on one of the sleeping ledges. Rioghan was very glad for the darkness so that she would not have to look on Donaill’s face as he lay beside Coiteann.

There was no mistaking him, though. One glimpse of his shadowed profile was enough…as was the brief sight of Coiteann’s long blond hair spread out over his chest.

For a moment the sickening anger came rushing back, but she fought it down. She had work to do, and it would require all of her concentration.

She moved to the ledge and sat down beside it in the straw. Donaill’s hand lay along its edge, and she reached up and found his bare wrist.

His skin was warm in the cold of the house, as warm and welcome as fire’s heat. Though she could feel the iron strength of his muscles even as he slept, the skin was smooth, and the fine hairs that covered it felt soft and alive beneath her touch. For a moment she forgot why she had come, and she closed her eyes and gently stroked the warm soft skin of his arm.

He caught his breath and began to stir. Instantly Rioghan let go and bent her head low beneath the ledge. In a moment all was quiet again, and she reached up once more to touch his wrist.

This time she made herself concentrate on what she must do. With her free hand she reached beneath the neck of her black wool gown and took out the crystal of seeing, holding the crystal in one hand and Donaill’s wrist with the other.

Tell me what happened to you,
she thought.
Show me how this was done…
Show me…

The visions were dark and shadowed at first. He may well have been asleep, or even drugged, but if he was present his mind would have some recollection of what had taken place.

Show me
…

She saw this house, Donaill’s house, in darkness. Three men lay on the three sleeping ledges, each one dead asleep, and each with an empty cup dropped carelessly in the straw just below.

Coiteann walked through the house and closed the door and the windows tight, shutting out any trace of natural light. Only the faint glow of the coals in the hearth allowed her to see at all. From a small leather bag at her waist, she lifted out what looked like a heavy, dull, flat black lump of metal hanging from a thin iron chain.

It was the same amulet, the charm of binding, that Rioghan had made for her.

Below the ledge where Donaill lay, half asleep and half drugged into unconsciousness, his sword belt had fallen into the straw. Coiteann reached down to it, found the leather sheath that held his dagger, and pulled the weapon out.

She stood over him for a moment, speaking in a low voice.
Now you will become mine, and not hers. Never hers.
Then she moved toward him and crouched down beside the ledge, pulling his hand over the edge so that it hung out over the straw. With his own dagger she made a cut in the small finger of his hand and pressed it so that the drops of blood fell directly onto the amulet. Donaill flinched at the cut, but remained otherwise unmoving on the ledge.

Coiteann took the blood-coated amulet back to the hearth and placed it on the surrounding stone wall. Now, from a large leather sack in the straw, she lifted up an aged, fat, and nearly blind lapdog, too asthmatic to bark and too feeble to defend itself.

From the same sack she took a length of strong cord and looped it around the old dog’s neck. Placing the animal’s nose against the amulet, Coiteann tightened the cord and held it firmly.

In the span of a few moments, the helpless creature breathed its last terrified breath directly onto the charm of binding.

Coiteann placed the body of the dog back into the sack and then picked up a smaller leather bag. This one she emptied into a dark corner of the hearth, for these were cold ashes newly swept from Donaill’s own hearth, a substance that had once been untouchable with bright heat but that was now cold and dead and dark—and entirely controllable. She rolled the amulet in these ashes and then held it up for one final look by the faint firelight.

The
luaidhe
stone had now been subjected to blood, and cruelty, and control, and would be an extremely dark and powerful charm of binding. Rioghan had placed only a gentle enchantment on it, one meant to be completed by a kiss between lovers, but after Coiteann’s ritual it would carry an irresistible compulsion.

Coiteann took the charm to Donaill’s side. Leaning over him, she slid her hand beneath his head and lifted him up just enough to get the amulet’s chain around his neck. Then, with a great effort, she managed to raise up one of his shoulders and arrange the amulet so that it hung down his back instead of resting over his heart. The wearer would thus be pushed and compelled toward his enchantress, instead of lovingly and willingly drawn. It would bind him to the woman who had stopped at nothing to get him and would stop at nothing to keep him.

Rioghan dropped her crystal of seeing, letting it fall back against her breast. She let go of Donaill’s arm and got to her feet, though her body shook and she feared her knees would give way. As quickly as she could she fled the cold, dark house, stumbling across the yard of Cahir Cullen with her dogs by her side, crying out to the watchman to open the gate and let her out, knowing she could never run far enough to escape the horror she had discovered.

Somehow Rioghan found her way home in the darkness, though anger and despair all but blinded her to the sight of the moonlit path. She was desperate to get home, but when she arrived at Sion she hurried past the opening of the cave and its welcoming warmth and light and ignored the dogs who tried to greet her. Instead she ran up the side of the mound until she stood in the ashes at the very top.

Alone save for Scath and Cogar, Rioghan threw back her head and sang out, a single rising note that floated out through the cold and misty forest. Though she knew that a few of the Sidhe always moved with her unseen in the forest whenever she left Sion, her wailing cry would bring them all immediately to her side.

It was not long before the gray figures began to appear at the rim of the mound, rising into sight as they climbed lightly up the side of the hill. Exhausted, Rioghan sat down on her black wool cloak and breathed deeply of the cold night air.

Gentle hands stroked her hair, her shoulders, her face.

“We are here with you.”

“Take time and calm yourself before you try to speak.”

“Look up at the beauty that surrounds you, and let it help to ease your heart.”

Breathing slowly, deeply, Rioghan raised her head and looked out at the land around her. The endless pine trees reached up to meet the moon, their branches black in the deep night and glowing faintly in the mist and moonlight. It was peaceful and beautiful, as it always was…but now she knew that to the north, where the fortress of Cahir Cullen lay within the holly grove, there was a darkness that even the brightest moon and most shining starlit sky could never banish.

At last she turned toward the waiting Sidhe. It was difficult to see them, for their faces were hidden by colorless cloaks pulled up high over their heads. They were all moonlit silhouettes against the starry night sky, occasionally bright with reflected starlight on their gold and bronze and polished jet brooches. Yet she knew they were there to listen to her, and comfort her, and give her what help they could.

“I have learned the truth,” she began, “and it is dark and tortured and cruel. And I do not know how I can fight it without being just as ruthless and just as evil.”

In silence, the Sidhe turned to glance at one another.

“Evil can never be used to fight evil.”

“Both evil things would be destroyed, should that be tried.”

“It is not your nature, nor is it ours, to use such methods, my lady.”

“Then I will tell you what she has done,” Rioghan whispered. As they gathered close, she told them all that she had learned of Coiteann’s dark ritual and of the terrible binding curse she had placed on the amulet—and on Donaill.

“Only the deepest darkness could break such evil,” Rioghan said again, and closed her eyes.

“Not the deepest darkness—but indeed the most brilliant light,” said one of the soft voices surrounding her.

“Each of those three curses can be fought.”

“We will help you find a way.”

Rioghan looked up at their shadowed forms. “How?” she whispered.

The Sidhe turned to each other for a time, murmuring softly and exchanging whispered words and gentle touches and even signals made with hands and fingers. Then they came back to Rioghan and surrounded her again, standing in a half circle before her with hands folded beneath their gray cloaks.

“The power of light—the greatest power anyone can wield—will be needed to break this curse.”

“You must bring Donaill to the stone circle at sunrise on the winter solstice.”

“That is the most powerful place.”

“That is the most powerful time.”

“The sun returns at the winter solstice, and its rays are the most magical at dawn on that day.”

Rioghan shook her head. “He would never go with me to the stone circle. He might follow Coiteann, but she would never allow him to get near it.”

“You must find a way.”

“Or he must find a way.”

“Somehow he must get to the circle at dawn on the solstice, or he will remain as he is now for the rest of his life.”

Rioghan could only look at them. “
If
I could get him to the circle…what must I do then?”

“The blood that soaked the amulet, blood taken by force and without consent, can be washed away by tears.”

“Tears of sorrow, wept for his loss by one who loves him.”

“Your tears, Lady Rioghan, for you are the one whose love for him is true.”

The Sidhe spoke to each other for a moment, and then turned to Rioghan again.

“The final breath of a captive creature, forced to die in pain and fear, permeates this amulet.”

“The living breath of a free, wild thing will counteract it.”

“Bring a wild creature willingly to your side as you stand within the stone circle, and allow its breath to touch the amulet.”

Silence fell again. The only motion was the faint mist weaving among the trees down below. “And the final task?” Rioghan asked.

“The
luaidhe
stone was coated in ash, dead and dark and cold.”

“It needs the warmth of a flame started from the rays of the winter solstice sun.”

“A flame kindled with the crystal you wear over your heart, for a crystal is like a living piece of the earth. It has beauty, constancy, and longevity—just as a true love has.”

Rioghan could only look at them as the trembling began again. “I know you are right,” she said to them, “and yet I cannot think of how these things could possibly be done. For even if I could bring Donaill to the stone circle on the morning of the solstice, and lure a wild thing to my side, and kindle a sun-fire with my crystal…”

She shook her head. “I have no tears to give him. There is too much anger—at Coiteann for her cruelty and at Donaill for his carelessness. There is anger, and pain, and terrible loss…but there are no tears.”

She could not use the Sidhe’s advice.

Chapter Twenty

Ten nights went by, ten long, cold nights during which Rioghan could think of nothing else but Donaill—try as she might to push him from her mind. The Sidhe, kind as they were, had brought back the gold and bronze and crystal that they had hidden away from the invading men. It had once brightened the inside of her cave, and so they set it all out again in an effort to cheer her, but she could hardly bring herself to look at it. It only reminded her of how Donaill had come to Sion to help protect these same beautiful things, and now she despaired that he even remembered being here at all.