Up on the walkway, someone started to sing. It was a ragged, desperate sort of song, dredged from old memory, the kind of tune a man reaches for when there is nothing else to keep the mind from tumbling right over into madness. Stand up and fight, men of the hill . . . A creaky old voice, not quite in tune, but raised high enough to cut through the mayhem of shouts and screams, scuffling and cursing:
“Stand up and fight, men of the hill
Dauntless in courage, united in will
Swing your swords proudly, hold your heads high . . .
Gearróg was staring up towards the walkway as new voices joined in, first one, then another, then more and more in an uncertain chorus.“Brothers together,” he muttered, “we live and we die . . .”
I dashed past him, along the path, up the steps, pausing for a moment to snatch my handkerchief from my belt and press it over my nose and mouth before I pushed open the library door. In my mind a desperate list of priorities was forming itself: Irial’s notebooks, which were nearest to the door and might not yet be damaged. The grimoires, left in a stack beside my work table. Nechtan’s documents and the transcriptions I had already completed.The box with the obsidian mirror . . .
The place was thick with smoke. I couldn’t see an arm’s length before my eyes. Choking, coughing, I groped my way over to the shelves where Irial’s notebooks were stored, ready to grab an armful and flee out into the garden with them. I had no chance of putting out the fire. By the time I fetched even one bucket of water, everything could be gone, and Gearróg was in no fit state to help. My arm swept along the shelf, but Irial’s records were not there—someone had moved them. Or was I in the wrong place? The smoke was stinging my eyes, making my nose run, creeping into my throat. My breath rasping, I screamed, “Muirne! Anyone! Help!”
No books on the floor beneath the shelf; nothing at all of Irial’s. Smoke wrapped me in a clinging shawl; I could no longer see the open doorway. I fumbled blindly towards the place where I had piled up the grimoires. My head felt odd. I could see patterns in the smoke, faces with gaping mouths, hands with rending claws . . .“Muirne,” I whispered, or maybe I only spoke in my mind. Someone come . . .
I fell to my knees and crept forwards. Every instinct told me not to breathe, but I had to, and with every breath my chest hurt more. Keep going, Caitrin. The grimoires . . . I couldn’t let the counterspell be burned to nothing . . . You can do it, Caitrin.This way . . . this way . . .
I reached the stack of books and collapsed beside it, eyes stinging, chest heaving. Dimly, I registered surprise that I could see no flames in the library, only the dense, choking cloud of smoke. My hands fastened around a book; one seemed to be all I had the strength to lift. Now out, out into the garden and fresh air . . . Which way? I turned my head, but the place was full of the suffocating blanket. Where was the door? My head reeled; the smoke swirled around me. I couldn’t seem to catch my breath. You’re going to die, Caitrin.You’re going to die for a book full of ridiculous love potions and improbable straw-to-gold charms.
I dropped the grimoire and began to crawl, trying to feel my way out. The leg of a table. A box—the chest holding Nechtan’s wretched mirror. My head struck something hard: the bench. A chair. A smaller table. Not far now.
The door slammed shut. The air seemed to tremble around me. The smoke thickened. I covered the last distance on my belly, retching, feeling the poison seep into my lungs. I clawed my way up the wall, clutching for the iron bar that held the door closed. I wrenched at it. Why wouldn’t it move? Why were my hands so weak? Around me everything dimmed, as if the day was already over. My fingers could not hold on to the latch. Help, I mouthed. Someone help me. But all that came was the dark.
chapter ten
Orifting. Dizzy. Sounds coming and going, lancing through my head. Voices, muffled. A clanking of metal. Trying to swim up . . . A heaviness holding me down.
“Don’t move, Caitrin.You’re safe. Lie still.”
His voice.Tears running down my face. Every breath a little mountain to be climbed, a new test of courage.
“You’re safe, Caitrin. Don’t try to move.”
No breath to speak.There was something I had to say, but all that came out was a croak. “Books . . .”
His hand against my cheek, warm, strong. “As if the books mattered,” he said.
“Tell . . .”
“The books are safe. Don’t try to talk. If you can, take a sip of water. Here.”
A cup at my lips. Sip, swallow. Fire. Pain. Something wrong with me.
“Lie back, Caitrin. I’m here, and so is Magnus. Rest now.”
“. . . hold . . .”
His fingers laced themselves through mine. I turned my head against the pillow and fell back into the dark.
Swimming up again, not so slow this time. Eyes open. Beams, stones, spider webs. A man in a blue cloak riding into battle; a hound at the horse’s heels. A little draft stirred the embroidered panel. Dust danced in lantern light. My own chamber, and late in the day. Nobody holding my hand, but someone in the room with me. I turned my head. Magnus was sitting on a stool a few paces away, a big sword across his knees. He had a cloth in his hand, and was polishing the blade. A blood-red glint in the shining metal. Signs of war.
“Magnus.” My voice crackled like an old woman’s. “Can I have some water?” It still hurt to breathe, but maybe not so much as before.
His hand lightly against my back, steadying me as he reorganized the pillows.The cup at my lips again. I drank deep, relishing the coolness. My throat felt as rough as dry leather.
“It’ll hurt for a while.”The big man’s tone was matter-of-fact.“Smoke does that.You’ve been lucky, Caitrin. Seems you somehow locked yourself in. Gearróg broke the door down.We got back just as he was carrying you out.” It was clear to me that Magnus did not believe this fairly simple account of what had happened.
“Anluan?”Why wasn’t he here? Had I imagined those soft words, that gentle touch?
“You’ve had quite a few folk anxious over your state of health, and him more than anyone. I packed him off to rest. He didn’t go willingly.”
“Magnus, what . . .” It seemed an immense effort to ask; there was so much I needed to know.
“All in good time.” His gaze was the calmly assessing one of a person who has cared for more than his share of the sick and wounded. “Drink some more of that water first, and we’ll get you a bowl of broth.” He went to the door, stuck his head out and said, “Caitrin’s awake. Send someone down to the kitchen for supplies, will you, lad? Broth is all she can take right now.There’s a pot beside the fire.”
“Who’s out there?” I asked. In my head was the image of men from the host up on the walkway, striking out at random as if the whole world was their enemy. I saw Gearróg writhing, his eyes full of demons. My arm was sore.When I rolled back the sleeve of my gown, it was to reveal a deep purple bruise.
“The first thing he’s going to ask you is who gave you that.” Magnus pulled the stool up beside my bed and sat down. He had placed the sword atop a chest, his hands careful.
“It was an accident. Magnus, are they all safe? The men of the host, I mean? There was a . . . they seemed to . . .”
His mouth formed a grim smile. “We’ve had an account of it; there’s been no reason to doubt that story. Safe? If you mean, has anyone died twice over, I don’t think that’s possible. As for the fire, that was an odd thing, very odd. Some of your documents sustained a bit of damage from the smoke, but nothing was burned.The whole thing seemed . . . conjured; not quite real.”
“The smoke was perfectly real,” I said, my skin prickling with unease. “What are you suggesting, Magnus? That it was all just . . .” I couldn’t bring myself to say it. It was devised with the sole purpose of getting rid of me. I remembered Róise swinging, swinging from the wire.
“I’m not suggesting anything,” he said, but he was avoiding my eye. “Caitrin, this has shocked Anluan badly. Both of us, to tell the truth.When Olcan called out to us from the barrier, and we came out and saw the smoke, it was . . . It brought back some very unwelcome memories. I’ve never run so fast.”
I scrutinized my companion more closely, seeing what I had not taken in before: the pallor of his strong features, the frown between the bushy gray brows, the set of his shoulders, not as square as was customary. “Fianchu raised the alarm?”
“He raced down to where Olcan was on guard, and Olcan came to fetch us. We ran back up the hill. Anluan couldn’t keep up; he made me go on ahead. God, Caitrin, I expected to find the same thing as last time, the very same, the house half burned away and you lying dead in the embers.”
“What are you saying?” My voice was a whisper.
“Emer died in a fire.The circumstances were much the same. Perhaps you’ve thought Anluan weak or cowardly for his reluctance to leave the hill, especially when there was such a need.You might have wondered why I didn’t encourage him to try it earlier.”
“I never thought him weak, Magnus. Will you tell me the whole story?”
He got up and began to pace, as if the chamber were too small to contain what he was feeling. “It was in the time when Emer’s brother was chieftain. As I told you before, he had a low opinion of Irial; couldn’t forgive his sister for marrying Nechtan’s kin. Irial recognized the need to forge new links, since Whiteshore was no longer the ally it had been. We discussed it at length, and when he got an unexpected invitation to attend a council at Silverlake, to the southeast, he decided to risk going. I went with him, since he had to have a personal guard. Emer was expecting another child; she didn’t want to undertake a long ride. She insisted she’d be safe here with Olcan and Fianchu and the small number of other folk we had working at Whistling Tor in those days. It was a sort of test. If the visit went well, Irial planned to hold a council of his own involving a much wider group of local chieftains. He had hopes that Whistling Tor could regain the status it had before Nechtan’s time. An ambitious plan. Risky, of course, but the host had been quiet in Irial’s time, and like you he was prepared to trust them. Emer was so proud of him, Caitrin. It shone in her eyes as she bid us farewell.
“The council went well. Irial spoke with conviction; folk listened to him. We rode home with high hearts. What we found was the great hall blackened and burned, Emer dead, young Anluan shrunk to a little shadow with his eyes full of death and terror. He wouldn’t say exactly what he’d seen, and none of the others had witnessed it—everyone had been elsewhere, busy, only realizing that there was a fire and that she was trapped when it was far too late to save her. Anluan wasn’t hurt, not physically, but . . . he wasn’t the same.There was some damage in him, deep down.”
The woman in the mirror, screaming . . . Oh, God . . . No wonder Anluan had struggled so hard with the decision to risk going off the hill. No wonder he’d had that look on his face this morning.
“When we saw the smoke today, both of us expected the same thing,” Magnus said. “That run up the hill was . . . I’ve never seen him so angry with himself, cursing his lame leg, cursing his own poor judgment, cursing the host . . . We were sure we’d find you dead. Me, I was looking ahead, seeing him the way his father was when he gathered up what was left of Emer . . . Sitting on the ground, cradling her poor burned body to him, specks of ash floating around them like dark snow . . .I’ve seen a lot, Caitrin, and I’ve heard a lot.War is my calling, and a warrior gets his fair share of blood and sorrow. I’d never heard a man make the sort of sounds Irial made that day. I took Anluan away; tended to him in my own quarters. Olcan looked after the farm.The others helped with what had to be done. Muirne was the only one Irial would take any heed of. He had nothing left for his son. He was consumed by grief and guilt. Such a loss can make a person selfish. Don’t get me wrong, I loved the man like a brother. But Anluan had sorrow of his own to bear, and so did I.”
“You never found out who was responsible for that fire?”
He shook his head. “There were no witnesses, save possibly Anluan, and he wouldn’t talk, or couldn’t. I found no clues. But Irial was convinced the host was responsible; that by leaving the Tor, he had brought down this fate on Emer. It seemed to me that fire might just as likely have started with a draft and a candle. After today, I’m not so sure.”
“Why would the host, or anyone else for that matter, want to harm me? I’m nobody.”
“You’re somebody to us,” Magnus said quietly.“Caitrin, I’ve talked too long.You’re not well, you should be resting.”
A tap at the open door.There stood Cathaír, holding a laden tray. Beside him, her hair turned to a pale nimbus by the sunlight behind her, was the ghost child, clasping a little jug in careful hands.
“Bring it in,” Magnus said, but Cathaír did not move beyond the doorway. The child came in, stepping over to set the jug on the storage chest. She crept to the foot of my bed and stood there, eyes downcast, fingers pleating little folds in the blanket. There was something in her stance, and in that of Cathaír, that troubled me greatly.
“How long was I unconscious?” I asked as Magnus retrieved the tray. The moment he took it from Cathaír, the young warrior backed off and vanished along the gallery.
“A while. Don’t trouble yourself with all this now, Caitrin. Eat and rest. We’ll keep you safe.”
I drank the broth in cautious sips. My throat felt as if it had been scraped bare. It hurt to breathe, but the warm liquid was soothing.“Where is everyone?” I asked.“Rioghan and Eichri? Olcan and Fianchu?” I realized that I had forgotten the most important question of all. “The Normans! What happened down at the settlement?”
“Funny the way things play out sometimes. It went well. The host stayed within the boundaries of the hill.Anluan made his speech, the Normans listened, they said their piece, he stood up to them. They were just getting into the next part, about how foolish we’d be to build this into an armed conflict, since they’d be sure to make mincemeat of us all, when we heard Olcan bellowing from beyond the barrier, and the fellows they’d left on guard yelling back at him.Then we came outside and saw the smoke.”
“Anluan defied Lord Stephen’s emissaries? He refused to give in to their demands?”
Magnus turned a very level look on me. I wondered that I had not noticed before how like his eyes were to my father’s. “What else did you expect?” he said simply.
“So it’s war.”
“When he thought he’d lost you, it seemed to me for a bit that he’d give up the fight. I was wrong. He won’t step back from this now, Caitrin, not after rallying the host, not after making that speech of defiance to the Norman councillors. If war comes to Whistling Tor, we’ll fight and fall under the banner of a true leader.”
