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Hearts Blood - Juliet Marillier
- Дата:11.10.2024
- Категория: Разная литература / Прочее
- Название: Hearts Blood
- Автор: Juliet Marillier
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“It’s a sad story,” I said. “But you were not the only one responsible. If someone gave you false information, the blame was partly his. And folk didn’t have to listen to you; they didn’t have to do what you said if they disagreed with you. Everyone has responsibility for his own actions.” I saw myself crouched helpless and silent under Cillian’s blows. “But sometimes we can lose ourselves. Out of fear or sadness or guilt, we become less than we should be. It can be hard to find the courage to move on.”
“There now,” Rioghan said, rising to his feet and reaching out a hand to help me up.“I should not have troubled you with this, Caitrin. My sorry tale has made you sad. Or is it your own woes that weigh you down? You are safe here. Anluan looks after all of us.”
“Your story made me think, that was all. Uncomfortable thoughts. I’ve wanted so much to be brave, and I can’t always manage it.”
“Dear lady,” Rioghan murmured. “Nobody at Whistling Tor means you any harm, you must believe that. Your presence is like a sweet fresh breeze blowing through this weary old place.”
This made me smile. “Rioghan?”
“Yes, Caitrin?”
“You have a new lord now. Breacán is gone. I know Anluan isn’t a king or a warrior. Perhaps he has some disadvantages. Some flaws. But he is worthy of your loyalty.”
“He has it,” Rioghan said. “Don’t doubt that.”
As I went back to my chamber, I realized this was true. Anluan’s tight circle of retainers had all chosen to share their damaged lord’s lonely existence on the hill. Magnus had been a warrior. He could have left when Irial died. Instead, he had stayed to help his friend’s son grow to be a man. At some stage, perhaps loyalty had become love. Whatever it was, it had endured some sorry times. I recalled the lines I had read in Irial’s notebook after supper, by lantern light.
One touch, that is all I ask. One touch; one embrace. Reach out to me, beloved. Where are you? The ninety-first day.
Day two hundred and sixty. Winter. In the garden the birch twigs glitter with frost. My heart will see no spring.
I had not been long at work the next morning when Anluan came into the library, moving to stand by the window and gaze out into the garden. “Magnus said I must apologize,” he said abruptly.
I was too surprised to respond.
“He says I misjudged you. If I did, I am sorry.” His tone was all sharp edges.
I drew a deep breath. “You were so angry,” I said. “It frightened me, and when I’m frightened I find it hard to speak properly. I didn’t mean any insult to you last night when I spoke of writing.” I chose my words carefully. “I’m a scribe. I’ve worked very hard to learn my craft over the years. I consider a page of script one of the finest things a person could wager.And I would never mock a man for the fact that his writing was a little irregular. Besides, that could be remedied.”
“Huh!” Anluan turned on his heel and stalked away across the library. “You think a bunch of old rags can be made into a silken robe? A worm-eaten apple into a glossy, perfect fruit? Impossible. Why do you imagine I’ve employed you?”
I took a deep breath and then another.“As an apology, that was somewhat lacking,” I said, forcing myself to challenge him. “I doubt Magnus would be very impressed by it. If you don’t like the way you write, learn to do it better. I could teach you. It would require concentration, calm, and regular practice. I suppose you might find that difficult, but once you mastered the technique, I believe it would come quite naturally.”
A lengthy silence; he was standing by the far wall, half in shadow, and I could not read his expression. No doubt an explosion of some kind was imminent. My body was tight as a bowstring, waiting for it.
“Again you judge me,” he said quietly.
“Not so harshly as you judge yourself. With . . .” I had ventured into far deeper waters than I’d intended. At this point, going on might be safer than going back. “With courage and hope, we can conquer our fears and do what we once believed impossible. I know that’s true.”
“Courage. Hope.” His voice was shaking, and not entirely from anger. “Easy for you to say such words, with your background of family, of comfort, of warmth and rightness.You understand nothing.”
This was too much.“That’s not fair!” I lashed out, springing to my feet. “You can’t know how much I’ve longed for those things, family and . . . and safety and . . . If I still had that, why in God’s name would I be here?” I turned my back on him, wrapping my arms around myself and wishing I could unsay the words. I willed him to go away.
After some time, he said, “So you stay in my house, not out of a desire to help, but because what lies behind you is worse than the chaos you find here.”
“I didn’t come here just for payment or a place to stay. I love my craft more than anything in the world; it’s all I have left. I do want to help you. I wrote that in the sample piece and I was telling the truth.”
He said nothing, and when I risked a glance, he was simply standing there, watching me. It seemed to me that a wrong word would set him in flight.
“If you had time, I could teach you to write more evenly, and in a way that would not hurt your hand and arm.You could practice a little each day.”And when he did not respond, I added,“If you worked with me in the library, I would be able to ask your advice on the documents. It would help me very much if you were here to answer a question or two.”
“I think not.” Anluan moved to the doorway.“I do not believe I could be of much assistance to you. I’m easily tired. I cannot . . .” A thought half spoken there, but his glance downwards completed it for me. The lame right leg, the useless right hand would make many of the simplest tasks difficult or impossible: lifting a pile of books, for instance. And he did get tired. I had seen that for myself. Perhaps he had some malady that went beyond the physical limitations. It was not something I could ask about.
“As for my script,” he added, “I fear no tutor could mend that.”
Such was the look on his face, yearning and desolate, that I swallowed the denial that came to my lips. He was not speaking of learning to write, but of something far bigger. Whoever took Anluan on as a student must first teach him hope.
“Well,” I said to his departing back, “you could let me try.”
Magnus and I became friends.Aware of the heavy load he carried, I made a habit of rising early so I could help him in the kitchen before starting work in the library. He would not let me prepare the porridge or mix up the mash for the chickens, but mending was a different matter; it was one of his most detested duties. Gradually I worked my way through a pile of neglected garments. The alteration of clothing for my own use I had done as quickly as I could after the disturbing visit to the north tower. With the russet and the violet along with my own two gowns, I was well supplied for the rest of the summer, even when the weather made getting things dry a challenge. Once or twice I had helped Magnus launder garments—mine, his and Anluan’s—and hang them over the bushes in the courtyard. I wondered when and where Muirne attended to her washing. She had a series of identical gray outfits, and I had never seen them other than perfectly clean and neatly pressed. Had we not been on Whistling Tor, I would have assumed she had the exclusive services of an expert laundress.
I saw little of her, or of Anluan. Sometimes they would be in Irial’s garden, sitting under the tree, he writing in his little book, she hovering close by. Often I would see a lamp glowing in Anluan’s quarters, late at night when the household was abed. But apart from Magnus’s warm kitchen, the house felt empty, echoing, forlorn.When we gathered for supper, without our chieftain or his constant shadow, the talk was of the day’s work: vegetables to be planted, stock to be tended to, a bridge to be mended. And in my case, the documents.There were always the documents.
I continued to sleep poorly, the old nightmares haunting me. I would wake with a start, my heart hammering, sure I had glimpsed a dark figure in the doorway. I would hear creaking footsteps on the gallery outside my chamber, or the soft swishing of a garment. Sometimes there was a stirring in the air, a presence I could sense close by, but I never saw anyone, save for Rioghan with his steady pacing in the courtyard below. Well, I had been warned Whistling Tor was a strange place. I should probably count myself lucky that this was the worst I had encountered.
I was attending to the cuffs of a shirt one morning when Magnus said, “It’s time I went back down the hill for supplies. Maybe tomorrow. Anything you need?”
“Linen thread, if you can get it. That’s all. I don’t need any writing materials.” The translation of Nechtan’s Latin notes was progressing slowly, thanks to my tendency to get lost in one tale or another while reading.
“You could come with me if you want.” This was offered with some diffidence.
I looked up, but he was stirring the porridge on the fire, his back to me.
“I don’t think Anluan would approve,” I said.“He expects me to work every day, I’m sure.”
“That’s as may be,” Magnus said, turning to put the pot on the table. Steam arose from the contents, along with a wholesome smell.“It wouldn’t hurt to remind him that you’re your own woman. At least, that’s my opinion. He still doesn’t believe you’ll keep your word about staying here. If you come down to the settlement with me, pass the time of day with the folk there, and then come back of your own free will, it might show him that you’ve the fortitude for the job even when the opportunity to escape is offered to you on a platter. And another thing. It would be good for the locals to see with their own eyes that a young woman can stay up here for a month or so and emerge, not only completely unscathed, but calmer and happier than she was when she headed up the Tor.”
“I’ve never felt like a prisoner here, Magnus. I know I’m free to go. It happens to suit me to stay, not just because the work needs doing, but . . .” In fact, the likelihood of Cillian finding me at Whistling Tor was now much diminished. My trail must surely have grown cold.
“Free to go. I hope that doesn’t mean you’d think of walking down the hill on your own.You’re safe up here; Anluan ensures that. But if you wander off into the woods without his knowledge, you could soon find yourself in trouble.” He passed me a bowl of porridge.
“If it really is so dangerous, how do you get to the village and back in one piece?”
Magnus smiled. “Never had any trouble yet, and I’ve been doing it since Anluan was knee-high. Must be something about the way I look. And if you’re with me, you’ll be all right. Think about it. I expect you wouldn’t mind a chat with some womenfolk. Muirne’s hardly the most sociable of girls.”
“Magnus.”
“Mm?”
“Why won’t anyone tell me what they are, these things in the woods? Every time I ask for explanations, I get a vague reply about beings or creatures, and how they’re of various kinds, and then someone changes the subject. But in the documents they’re described as a fearsome army, a force nobody can control, something that was so powerful and destructive that everyone in the neighborhood must have known about it.”
He looked at me, gray eyes steady. “There’s two ways you might find out the answer to that, Caitrin. It might be somewhere in those documents you’re working on. Or he might decide he’s ready to tell you.”
“Oh.” I considered this as he ate his way steadily through his porridge. “Could you answer a question?”
“Depends what it is.”
“Is Anluan the only person here who knows what they are?”
“No, lass.We all do.”
“So he’s ordered you not to talk about it, not to tell me.”
“I need to explain something to you, Caitrin.You might be tempted to think Anluan is somewhat less than a grown man. He hasn’t had much to do with the world outside, and it makes him . . . odd, sharp, not quite in tune with folk like yourself, folk from beyond the hill. He’s got his reasons, strong ones, for being the way he is. I’ve tried to help him. I haven’t always done a good job of it. He can seem a bit like a child sometimes, quick to anger, all too ready to see a chance remark as a slight. But don’t make the mistake of thinking anyone else is in charge here.Anluan’s the leader of this household. He makes the rules and the rest of us abide by them.”
After a little I said,“I see.Very well, I’ll come with you tomorrow. Shall I tell him or will you?”
Magnus grinned. “I will. But I’ll wait until suppertime. Now I’d best be gone.” He rose to his feet, and I thought it was perhaps not so surprising that whatever lurked in the woods had left him alone, for even in his old working clothes he was every inch a warrior.
A familiar mist wreathed the trees and clung to the bushes as Magnus and I made our way down to the settlement. It was early; I had been astonished to see Anluan standing in the archway, a somber cloaked figure, watching us as we went.
“We’ll be back before midday,” Magnus had called, but Anluan had said nothing at all. I imagined he disapproved of my going; he had not come to last night’s evening meal, but I knew Magnus had told him the plan.
I walked close to my companion, fearing whispering voices and creeping hands, or worse. After a while Magnus said, “They don’t tend to come out when it’s me, as I told you. Scarcely a peep out of them. Besides, you’re one of Anluan’s folk now; that protects you.”
“That’s very . . . inscrutable,” I said, lengthening my stride to keep up.
“I wouldn’t be taking you if it wasn’t safe.”
The simple logic in this was reassuring. I relaxed somewhat.“You never married, Magnus?” I asked him.
“Never met the right woman. Not a lot of them to choose from in these parts.”This was spoken with good humor, but it seemed to me a terrible waste. He would have made some woman a fine husband, and not just because he was so handy around the house.
“I’m sorry,” I said, meaning it.
“Not your fault, is it? I made my choice and I’ll live with it. He needed me. Still does, I believe.”
“You’re all very loyal to him.”
“He’s a fine lad. If you stayed long enough, you’d come to know that.”
“Magnus?”
“Mm?”
“Was Anluan born with his disability, the weak arm and leg and the crooked shoulders?”
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.
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