The Dark Mirror (50 page)

“It could be lonely,” Tuala ventured.

Ferada regarded her curiously “That’s odd, coming from you. Don’t you like being alone? You’re always scuttling off to your hidey-hole up in the
tower. Maybe Fola’s like you. Maybe she enjoys being by herself, with only her own thoughts for company”

“A wise woman
has the company of the gods,” Ana said. “That means she is never lonely.”

“Sometimes we speak to the gods and they do not answer,” Tuala said. “That is the loneliest of all.” She thought of Bridei with a shadow in his eyes, his face ash-pale with tension. The answers he needed, neither man nor god had been able to provide.

“What is it, Tuala?” There was concern in Ana’s tone. “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing.” She must guard her thoughts with more care if they showed thus in her face. “When must you marry? How soon? Broichan wanted me to—I only came here because—”

“He had a suitor for you already?” Ferada asked. “Who? Tell us!”

“A man called Garvan. A stone carver. I did not want to marry him. I don’t want to marry anyone.”

“You’re in the right place, then,” Ferada said.

“Garvan,” mused
Ana. “You mean the famous Garvan, the one who carved the bull stones at Caer Pridne? He must be quite old, surely.”

“I don’t know if he’s famous. He might be; Broichan did mention commissions for the king. He seemed old. Maybe thirty.”

“A stone carver wouldn’t do for either of us,” Ferada said, “however famous. It’s chieftains or their sons; sometimes kings from other lands. The royal women
do go away. I suppose that’s a kind of escape. Look at Bridei.”

“What about Bridei?” Tuala tried to sound nonchalant.

“That’s what his mother did. Married the king of Gwynedd, went off and had her children there. The royal descent goes from father to son in those parts. Bridei has elder brothers, of course. One of them would most likely follow the father. Bridei’s a bit like Ana; parted from
his family for other people’s reasons. He, of course, is entirely suitable for me or for Ana. He meets all the qualifications. The only drawback is the possibility that he could be a candidate for kingship; it’s preferred that the king wed outside the royal line, to avoid his sons becoming contenders in future years. To wed a woman of the blood, even a distant cousin, would concentrate too much power
in one family; it would make the line of descent too narrow. Still, chances are Bridei won’t even put his name forward when the time comes. There are several older, more experienced men who are eligible, one or two
of them widely respected. Your foster brother is unlikely to be a candidate, and so can be considered as marriage material for us. I’m forced to admit that it’s not such a bad prospect.
Life with him might be rather too solemn, but at least he’s not an oaf, as so many of them are. Broichan’s brought him up to love the gods and to demonstrate impeccably good manners.”

“You think him too solemn?” asked Ana. “Some men find it hard to laugh; that is not such a bad thing. Better than a man who laughs too much, and foolishly”

“Ana likes him,” Ferada whispered to Tuala, brows raised.
“She saw your brother from a distance two summers ago, when Talorgen took the boys to court. She said he was handsome.”

“I said no such thing.” Ana was blushing again. “I never even met him.”

Tuala was seized with a desperate need to turn the conversation to safer ground. “Your brothers could be candidates for kingship, too,” she said to Ferada.

“Well, yes,” Ferada said with a grimace. “Technically,
they can, as my mother’s sons. But Uric and Bedo have a lot of growing up to do yet, and Gartnait’s entirely unsuitable. I love my big brother, but he simply doesn’t have it in him to take on such a weighty mantle. He’s lacking in so many of the essentials of a true leader, qualities which, I’m obliged to acknowledge, the worthy and rather dull Bridei demonstrates more and more as he grows
older. Father would never consider putting Gartnait forward as a candidate. In fact, they are saying such a decision will face Fortriu within two summers. Drust is ailing. I heard Kethra say that. So, no chance for my little brothers; by the time Uric and Bedo reach manhood there’ll be a new young king on the throne.”

“Perhaps not young,” said Ana. “Bearing in mind that each of the seven houses
of the Priteni may put a candidate forward, there could be several men of middle years in contention. Some of my own kinsmen would qualify by blood, although I doubt they’d declare candidacy if the election comes soon. My own situation is likely to prevent that.”

“True,” Ferada said. “The voting chieftains will surely choose someone who’s tried and tested as a leader of men; someone like Drust’s
first cousin Carnach, who’s youngish but well respected and powerful in his own territories. And loyal. I think we can safely forget about both Bridei and my brothers in such a contest; put their names up and folk would only laugh. The biggest threat is from Circinn. From Drust the Boar. This will be his
chance to claim the crown of Fortriu to add to that of Circinn, in order to unite the two
kingdoms in the observance of the Christian faith.”

“The Shining One protect us from such a horror,” Ana muttered.

“Do you think it likely Drust the Boar can gather the numbers for that?” asked Tuala, shocked. “Would sufficient of the voting chieftains support him?”

“It’ll be close,” Ferada said. “They’ll be interesting times. Dangerous times. Hold out the prospect of such power before a group
of men and anything can happen. We should go, Ana. It’s fine enough for riding today. Why don’t you come with us, Tuala? I’m sure we could smuggle you out somehow.” She rose to her feet with a mischievous glint in her eyes.

“Thank you, no,” Tuala said. “I must—I need to—”

“It’s all right, Tuala,” said Ana kindly. “You must not break rules. Ferada gets a little carried away sometimes, especially
when she’s been shut in too long. Like a caged cat. I hope we gave you the answers you wanted.”

“Yes, I—”

“The thing is,” Ferada said, “it’s just as bad for the boys as it is for us, in a way. The young men of royal blood, those who could be candidates for kingship, have their own set of rules to follow. Their wives are chosen as carefully as our husbands, not because of breeding, but because
a royal wife must be perfect, beyond reproach. Just imagine having that kind of pressure on you. You’d be nothing but your husband’s shadow, your only purpose to reflect the glory of his role as human embodiment of the Flamekeeper and symbol of Fortriu’s aspirations. Every single thing you did would be scrutinized. You’d have no life of your own at all.”

“If you loved your husband,” said Ana,
“that wouldn’t matter, surely?”

“Listen to her,” Ferada scoffed, “and her talk of love! How you manage to keep such foolish dreams alive in the face of so much evidence to the contrary I can’t understand. Now, we really are going to be—late enjoy whatever it is you’ll be doing, Tuala.” With a quirk of the lip, she turned and walked away, and Ana followed.

THE TREE CRADLED
Tuala, its limbs secure and strong, anchoring her to earth’s heart. Its canopy spread fresh and green under the warmth of the sun. Ana had said the Flamekeeper smiled on Fortriu. Well he might; the Mage Stone had been brought home, and soon the land would have a new
young king. For all Ferada’s dismissive words, Tuala knew how it would be. There was a deep certainty in it that
allowed for no doubt.

She would not practice scrying. She knew what would appear on the water to taunt and torment her. It would not be Fox Girl this time, Ferada as a grown woman in an elegant gown, smiling up at her husband as he inclined his head with impeccably good manners to hear her words. No; this time it would be Ana. Tuala’s heart was cold. A young man who might one day be king needed the right bride. That
could not be challenged; he could not walk a path of such terrible responsibility unless his wife could support him with all her own strength. He could not be fully accepted among the influential men surrounding him, both allies and possible adversaries, unless he had made a marriage entirely acceptable in the eyes of both his people and the gods. Tuala knew that. She had known Ferada was a possible
choice, but she had been able to discount that, almost, because quite plainly Ferada would never be chosen. The Shining One would intervene before Bridei allied himself to a girl who thought him dull, for such a girl could never love him as he needed to be loved. But Ana; Ana was a different matter. Ana was young, beautiful, clever, of royal blood and both sweet and kind as well. It hurt to think
about it. Ana liked Bridei. No doubt he would like her in return; how could he fail to do so? She was absolutely perfect, and utterly suitable. It was all too easy to imagine Bridei confiding in Ana as he had once done in Tuala herself, telling her his troubles, working through his quandaries, sharing with her every part of his struggle to know what choices were right. It fit perfectly; it was
as if the gods had intended it.

She would not weep. She would swallow these tears. If this would help Bridei, if it was right for the future of Fortriu, then it was a good thing. And if her own heart broke over it, that was a small enough matter in the great unfolding of it all.

Tuala drew her knees up, wrapping her arms around them. There was a chill inside her at odds with the sunny brightness
of the day. She would probably never see him again. Never. She might spend her whole life within the walls of Banmerren or another of the houses of wise women that were dotted across Fortriu. If she truly loved the Shining One as she had always thought she did, that should be a blessed life, a life of dedicated service, of purity and strength. She could teach. Already, the opportunity was there.

The tears began to spill despite her. A powerful wave of feeling swept over her, a raw longing for home, for the woods above Pitnochie, for those
other oaks, for the hall fire and the shrewd, kindly faces of Erip and Wid as they cajoled her out of her mood. For Brenna’s friendship and Ferat’s grumbling and Donal’s plain, honest strength; for Mara’s dour pronouncements and the smell of clean linen
and oatcakes baking. She wanted that world back; she wanted to be riding Blaze through the forest, with Bridei beside her on Snowfire and the whole day ahead of them, full of wondrous new things to discover. And yet she knew that it would not be enough, not now. She no longer wanted Bridei to love her like a sister. She wanted . . . she wanted the impossible.

You cannot go back
, said a little
voice inside her, the same that had whispered the tale of Nechtan and Ela in her ear. There was nobody here in the tree but Tuala herself and a small bird or two. But they were with her all the same, cobweb girl and leaf man, a part of her that could not be ignored, not even here at Banmerren, so far from home.
There’s no going back
.

Not to that world
. It was the other voice, the girl’s, and
Tuala thought she could almost see her graceful, airy form among the branches, silver rings and gossamer robes, translucent skin and shimmering hair.
But our world is waiting for you; your world, Tuala. That is where you belong. You must come home to your own kind. There is no place for you here. Neither king’s court nor house of ritual can hold you long. Like the wild creatures of the forest,
you chafe at confinement. Sooner or later you must fly away
.

So many tears
. The leaf man spoke, and Tuala felt a touch, as if a twiggy finger reached to wipe the torrent from her cheek. It was both tender and deeply unsettling.
Among us, you will have no cause to weep, little one. You will be surrounded by love. Owl and badger, otter and wild deer will be your friends. You will drink of the honeysuckle
and dance in slippers of moonlight. You will live your days without fear or sorrow, and your sleep will be visited only by good dreams. Leave all this behind; you are not meant for such a world. Come home; come back to the forest. We will show you the way
. . .

They were coaxing her back. Coaxing so tenderly . . . and yet, these same folk had abandoned her as a babe without a second thought.
Were they obeying the will of the Shining One? Or was it just a cruel game, another piece of trickery? For all her doubts, there was such kindness in the leaf man’s tone that Tuala knew if she had been there, now, in the Vale of the Fallen, she would have reached for his hand and let him lead her away under the trees to the land he spoke of, the realm where her true family awaited her and all her
questions would be answered. But she was not there; she was
here at Banmerren, perched high in an oak tree all by herself, and these voices were not real. They were a thing that came from inside her, a manifestation that had little to do with Ana or Bridei or the fact that tomorrow she had a private lesson with Fola that she should be preparing for. Scrubbing her cheeks with her hands, Tuala climbed
over to the inner wall, balanced her way across to the roof, sure-footed on the narrow stones, and returned to her cold chamber. She knelt on the floor and closed her eyes. Breathing in a slow pattern, she bent her thoughts on the Shining One, powerful, compassionate, and wise. If the truth could not be found in prayer, then she was indeed all alone.