Magnus walked on as if I had not spoken, and I wondered if this was another of those questions that would never be answered. Then he said, “He was born as straight as any other child. He fell ill.This was after both Emer and Irial were gone.A palsy.We nearly lost him.Tried to get help, but nobody would come.”
Nobody comes here. I tried to imagine how that would have been: the boy lying between life and death, and only the ill-assorted inhabitants of the fortress to tend to him.“But surely—” I began, then stopped myself. If I had learned anything by now, it was that this place ran by its own rules, and perhaps always had.
“He’s got kin,” Magnus said. “But things are complicated. Maybe one day he’ll trust you enough to tell you. He was very sick. We got him through it. It was a grim time. He regained the power of speech, though that was a slow process. He was left with his weakness. It’s a hard thing for a boy of thirteen to come to terms with, that he’ll never be an able-bodied man. Still weighs heavily on him, as no doubt you’ve seen. I did my best.”
“I know, Magnus.” After a moment I asked, “What kin?”
“At the time of Anluan’s illness, Emer’s brother was chieftain of Whiteshore—that’s our neighboring territory to the northeast. If you went up the north tower you’d have seen it. The fellow had never approved of Emer’s marriage to Irial. He’d cut off all contact between the two territories. We sent a lad from the settlement with a message, when Anluan was hanging between life and death.They wouldn’t let him through the gates.” He glanced at me, his strong features set. “Ask the folk down the hill why these things happen, and they’ll tell you Whistling Tor is cursed. It’s near enough to the truth. Fear kept folk away then, and it keeps them away now. Emer’s brother is gone; his son, Brión, is chieftain of Whiteshore now. A better man than his father, from what I’ve heard. But that gap’s never been bridged. Fear keeps Anluan a prisoner.”
“And you with him,” I said softly.
“Couldn’t leave the boy on his own, could I?”
We walked on. I pondered the fear that made the Tor an island cut off from the outside world. It was, no doubt, based on the supposed presence of an eldritch host in these woods, a host that had once been real, unless the written records of both Nechtan and Conan had been the ravings of madmen. And yet here we were, halfway down the hill, with not a single monster to be seen. The forest was peaceful under the morning sun; birds exchanged eloquent calls up in the canopy. Certainly, this was a melancholy place. But there were no-
“Magnus?” My voice had gone small and shaky.
“Mm?”
“There’s a man under the trees, over there—in a dark cloak—” Even as I pointed, the figure I had seen became no more than a shadow.
“Just keep your eyes on the path,” Magnus said. “Nothing to worry about.”
Something rustled, and I whipped around the other way.A woman this time, half glimpsed amid ferns, white face, staring eyes, enveloping hood. Even as I looked, she was gone. A phantasm, perhaps conjured by my fearful imagination out of the glancing of light on stones or the dance of leaves in the wind.
“Take my arm, Caitrin.” Magnus’s voice was steady as a rock. “Look ahead. Remember what I told you.You’re one of Anluan’s folk now, and you’re safe with me.”
And by the time we were twenty paces further down the hill, there was nothing to be seen. I knew better than to ask questions. We covered the rest of the distance to the settlement in silence, and the bristling barricade was opened to let us in.
My arrival in the settlement was greeted with expressions of astonishment. Clearly, nobody had expected that I would survive my trip up the hill in one piece, let alone return apparently none the worse for wear. Tomas, it emerged, had taken the risk of accepting Duald’s wager that I would reach the top alive, and now stood to collect his winnings.
“I had my doubts,” he told me as Magnus and I waited outside the inn while folk went off to pack up the supplies we needed.“I won’t deny that. But you seemed so set on getting there, I thought, if anyone can do it, she can.”
“Thank you for your faith in me,” I said. “Might I go inside and talk to Orna awhile? We’re in no rush to get back.” Judging by what I’d seen of Magnus’s last visit here, we were likely to be handed our provisions and seen swiftly back out through the barrier. Now that we were here, I found that I did, in fact, want some female conversation, even if it was full of dire warnings about uncanny warriors and giant dogs.
“Why not?” said Tomas, glancing sideways at Magnus. I sensed it was not usual for my companion to be invited in; I had not forgotten how fearful Orna had appeared in his presence last time, as if Magnus had brought the taint of the Tor into the settlement with him.
“Take your time, Caitrin,” Magnus said. “I’ll be out here if you need me.”
Inside the inn, Orna was scrubbing the floor, while a red-haired woman worked energetically with a long-handled brush, cleaning away cobwebs. Both stopped work to stare at me as I came in.
“By all the saints and crawly creatures,” Orna said, sitting back on her heels. “You’re back.”
“I am, and hoping you may have time to sit down and talk awhile. Maybe some ale? Magnus has funds.”
“Of course.” Perhaps aware that I must have an interesting tale to tell, at the very least, Orna got up and fetched the ale jug, introducing her friend, Sionnach, as she set three cups on the freshly scoured table. “Now tell us,” she said. “What did you think of Lord Anluan? What’s it really like up there?”
It transpired, as I told them what little I believed Anluan would think it reasonable for me to tell, that very few people in the village had ever seen him in the flesh.There were some young folk who had done a day or two of work up on the Tor before they fled in fright, Orna said, and some old folk who recalled seeing Anluan as a child, but Orna,Tomas and Sionnach had never clapped eyes on him, and neither had any of their friends.
“So he never comes down here,” I said. “Not at all.”
“Not at all. We see Magnus. Sometimes we run into the fellow with the dog, a curse on the two of them. But not him. Not the chieftain who’s supposed to be leader and protector of us all. A pox on the wretched, twisted freak. But you’ll have seen for yourself what he is.” There was a question in Orna’s voice; she and Sionnach were both waiting eagerly to hear my tale.
“Anluan’s an ordinary man,” I said, realizing as I did so that this was an inadequate description. “He has a slight physical deformity, but it does not make him a monster. He is a little—well, he has a tendency to lose his temper rather easily. But he’s no freak. I think he has the makings of a good chieftain, but . . . there are some difficulties. I don’t see much of him. I work on my own most of the time.” I felt a sudden sense of disloyalty; it would be wrong to talk too much, to expose more of the wounds that lay on Anluan and his loyal retainers. Somewhere in my mind was the big question, the question of why. I did not think it would be answered here, where talk of curses and monsters loomed so large. “I’ve been doing some mending for the household up there,” I said brightly. “I don’t suppose you have a supply of linen thread, or some fine needles?”
They were only too happy to oblige. Orna got out her sewing box and Sionnach ran next door to fetch hers. A lively discussion of hemming methods ensued, during which I managed to insert some careful questions about recent visitors to the settlement, and whether anyone might have been asking about a young woman traveling on her own. The reply was not unexpected: that nobody came to Whistling Tor. It must be somewhat of an exaggeration. Certain supplies would have to be brought in, and certain goods must go out, accompanied by people to convey them. But there was no reason for Orna to lie about this. She and Tomas knew I did not want to be found, and as innkeepers they would be more aware than most of any comings and goings in the district. “Though there have been some rumors,” she added darkly. “They say the Normans are getting closer. A troop of them was seen riding on Silverlake lands.There’s talk they might press on right into this region. Sets a chill in the bones, doesn’t it? Who’d stand up for us if they came?”
Probably thanks to my presence, Magnus was eventually invited inside the inn, where he and Tomas, with a couple of other men, sat with us women over ale and oatcakes. I noticed how skillful Magnus was at extracting information without quite asking for it. By the time we got up to leave, he had discovered the name of the Norman lord whose warriors had been seen at Silverlake—Stephen de Courcy—that there had been twelve men in the party, and that Tomas’s informant had been a monk from Saint Crio dan’s, where the Normans had stopped to say prayers and ask for directions. There had been no formal visit to Fergal, chieftain of Silverlake; not yet.
As we were leaving the inn, Orna took my sleeve and held me back while the men went on ahead.“Are you sure you want to go back up there, Caitrin?” she murmured. “What about those . . . things?”
I saw the fear in her eyes, and the amazement that I would choose to return to the Tor of my own free will in the face of such abominations. “I’ve seen very little,” I told her. “Perhaps it’s not as bad as you think. On the way up I did hear some voices, it’s true. And this morning I kept imagining I saw folk in the woods. But I’ve seen no evidence of a . . . host. Nothing truly fearsome.”
“They’re fearsome all right. I’d say ask my grandmother, but she’s gone now. They’re not just wild tales, those accounts of folk ripped limb from limb and whole villages laid waste.They’re all true. Just because you haven’t seen it for yourself, that doesn’t make it any less real. I don’t know how you can be so cool and calm about it.”
I thought of Conan’s records, the misguided attempt to use the host in battle, the despair over the future of his people and his family. “I’m not doubting you, Orna. I’ve been told that Anluan will keep me safe.”
Orna shook her head, lips tight. “Anluan, eh? And how will his lordship do that, with his weak arm and his twisted leg? There’s only one way a man like that can protect you, Caitrin, and that’s by sorcery. Everyone knows what Nechtan was. This is his kin; this is a man not to be trusted. Be careful, that’s all I’m saying. If you wanted to stay here with us, we’d fit you in somewhere.You don’t have to go back up there.”
“Coming, Caitrin?” Magnus was waiting at the door, sack of supplies over one brawny shoulder.
“I’m coming.” I turned back to Orna. “Thank you, you’ve been very kind. I’m sure I’ll be all right. I hope this Norman threat comes to nothing. Perhaps I’ll see you again next time Magnus comes down.”
“We’d like that.” Her plain features were transformed by a smile. “Wouldn’t we, Sionnach? Not good for you on your own up there, no other women, household full of who knows what. Make sure you do come.”
I felt refreshed by the change of scene, though the news about the Normans was worrying. After an uneventful walk back up the Tor, we came into the courtyard to see Anluan in the archway again, as if he had not moved all morning. He offered no greeting, just nodded when he saw us.
“I need to talk to you,” Magnus told him. “Got some news.”
They headed off in the direction of the kitchen, and I went to the library, where I spent the afternoon leafing through inconsequential farm records. I could not get Orna’s words out of my mind. There’s only one way a man like that can protect you, Caitrin, and that’s by sorcery. I did not want Anluan to be a sorcerer. I wanted him to be a chieftain; I wanted to see him become the person I glimpsed sometimes beneath the forbidding exterior, a man who was sensitive to the moods of others, a man who could make leaps of logic, a man who ...Well, that was none of my business; I had not been hired to deal with the disorder in this chieftain’s spirit, only that in his library. Wretched, twisted freak. If he were ever to become what he should be, it would only be by a daunting effort. He would have to battle years of prejudice and misunderstanding. Hardest of all, I thought, would be learning to believe in himself.
“Another dumpling, anyone?” Magnus dipped his ladle into the cook pot. “I’ll be in need of some help as soon as this wet spell’s over. Best keep your strength up.”Tonight we were all assembled for supper.The rain had begun in early afternoon and was still falling steadily outside.
“I’ll give you a hand if I can,” I said.
Anluan turned his gaze on me. “You’re not being paid to chop wood and herd cows.”
“Thank you for the offer, Caitrin,” Magnus said with a smile. “Anluan may not be aware that you’ve been helping out with this and that for some while now. If that’s cause for another reprimand, the fault’s mine for accepting assistance when it was kindly offered. As for the farm work, Olcan will help me.”
“Your family home has a landholding, Caitrin?” Anluan’s question was harmless on the surface, but I knew he had not asked it casually.
“A small one, yes. A house cow, geese and chickens, a plot for vegetables.”
“And your father’s name is Berach,” said Muirne.
“Was. My father died last autumn.”
A brief silence.“You have a sister, I remember that.” Rioghan this time. “A more generously built version of yourself, I believe you said. Are there brothers as well? I suppose not, or we’d have had them rampaging up here trying to fetch you home.”
This guessing game was like being prodded from every side with sharp bodkins. It was the first time they had asked me outright about my home situation. “No brothers. Just my sister and me.”
“And where is she, Caitrin?” asked Muirne.
“Married and gone. She wed a traveling musician.” Married, gone and left me. Left me to Cillian.
Anluan rose abruptly to his feet; the rest of us, after a startled moment, did the same. “This is a fine meal, Magnus,” he said, gathering his cloak around him, though the chamber was warm. “I’m sorry I can’t do justice to it. I will retire now. As for Caitrin, she should not be wasting her time with domestic work. She has more important duties.”
I opened my mouth to protest, but Magnus spoke first. “Noticed how nicely mended your shirts are these days?” he asked quietly. “That’s Caitrin’s work.”
Anluan’s fair complexion flooded as red as that of a small boy caught peeking curiously at his sisters bathing.Without a word, he turned his back and left the room.True to pattern, Muirne followed.
The rest of us relaxed. Magnus brought out another jar of ale; Olcan shared the remnant of the bread amongst the five of us. Eichri whistled a tune under his breath. It did not sound like a religious melody.
“Your story intrigues me, Caitrin,” Rioghan said.“You came to Whistling Tor all alone.You have no resources, or you wouldn’t have needed to borrow the price of a wager.Your father was a master scribe, you say. We don’t doubt that, since he taught you, and we’ve heard Anluan praise your skills at what, for him, is unusual length.”
