“Finished for the morning?” Anluan is standing in the inner doorway, one hand up on the frame. I wonder how long he’s been there, watching me without a sound.
I rise and walk across the library, and he stretches out his arms to receive me. He’s looking tired, but it’s a good sort of weariness, caused by long days of work rebuilding our ties with the community beyond the Tor. He, of us all, has borne the heaviest burden and continues to do so. The host may be gone, but there are fresh challenges, those every chieftain of Erin faces in these troubled times. Leaning against him, warm in his embrace, I say,“Emer told me she heard the horse again last night. A neighing sound and a rattling of bones.”
“It misses Eichri, no doubt. As do I, more than I can put into words. And Rioghan; I had not realized quite how much I depended on his friendship and his wise advice. I hope they are content, wherever they have journeyed.”
“They’ll be seated opposite each other, trading quips and making wa gers in the place beyond death, I expect.” It’s hard to summon a smile, but I do so for Anluan’s sake.“Come, let’s join the others for a little before you and Magnus go to your meeting. Did you know the heart’s blood is already in bud?” Maraid has told me she’ll try to make ink when the flowers are ready. That pleases me, since it implies she will stay until autumn at least. “Anluan,” I say as we pause on the threshold.
“Mm?”
“They would be so proud if they could see you now. Irial and Emer, I mean. Our children will have the future your father wanted for you.”
“I believe they keep watch over us,” Anluan says, surprising me. “Our good spirits, the souls of our departed ones. I sense my father’s presence in the garden. He must be glad to hear the voices of children here, to see folk busy about the place, to know the curse that shadowed the Tor for so long has been lifted.”
A wailing from the garden as Etain takes a tumble. Magnus scoops her up and cradles her against his shoulder as if being a father were as simple as making a good pie. For him, perhaps it is. The baby is already quieting in his arms.
“Come out here, Caitrin!” my sister calls.“Magnus and I are in disagreement about a method for preserving eggs and we need you to arbitrate.”
Anluan takes my hand and we go out together into Irial’s garden.
About the Author
Juliet Marillier was born in Dunedin, New Zealand, a town with strong Scottish roots. She graduated from Otago University with degrees in arts and music, and has had a varied career which includes teaching and performing music as well as working in government agencies.
Juliet now lives in a hundred-year-old cottage near the river in Perth, Western Australia, where she writes full-time. She is a member of the druid order OBOD. Juliet shares her home with two dogs and a cat.
Juliet’s historical fantasy novels are published internationally and have won a number of awards.Visit her Web site at www.julietmarillier.com.
