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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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I walked over to the window and peered out. Irial’s garden was deserted save for the usual bevy of small birds in the stone bowl.A stroll once around the path would get my thoughts under control; then I’d go back to work.
The day had warmed and the garden was full of soft colors: gray-green, muted violet, blushing rose, palest cream. It seemed to me that the man who had created this sanctuary with such care had left something of himself behind in its quiet corners. As I walked I felt tranquillity seeping into my bones. And yet, Irial himself had given in to despair. It didn’t seem right.
“Why would you do it?” I murmured.“Couldn’t you see what you still had?” His young son; his most loyal of friends; his adoring household; this garden where lovely things still grew and flourished, even though Emer was gone. Could a man love a woman so much that, without her, everything else in his world ceased to have meaning? That was extreme. How cruel to leave Anluan all alone to deal with everything, the Tor, the host, the curse ...
As if I had summoned him with my thoughts, the chieftain of Whistling Tor walked in through the garden archway and halted when he spotted me under the birch tree. He was freshly shaven and his hair had been combed, perhaps washed.The light caught the red of it, a dark flame amid the muted shades of the garden. He’d changed his clothes, too; the shirt he had on was one I had mended recently, using a thread that did not match.
“You were talking to someone.” Anluan glanced around the empty garden.
“Only to myself. Not that there haven’t been folk about, both last night and this morning. Folk from the forest, I mean.”
Anluan limped towards me, pausing by the clump of heart’s blood.“It’s put on new growth,” he observed, glancing down. “Caitrin, if you wish them to leave you alone, just tell me.”
“No, it’s fine. I made them an undertaking and it’s fair that they should keep an eye on me to be sure I carry it out as best I can.They don’t seem particularly monstrous.There was a child last night, no more than five years old ... Could you stay in the library awhile this morning? I need your help with something.”
“I’m at your disposal.After my abrupt departure last night, I can hardly offer less.”
“You are chieftain here,” I said. “You can do what you like. And last night was partly my fault. I spoke without thinking, and I’m sorry. I’m glad you came this morning. Shall we go in?”
There was a certain awkwardness when he saw the writing materials set out on one of the cleared tables. I saw a familiar tightening of the jaw, a flinty look in the eyes. I spoke before he could. “All you need to do is try something for me. Just a slightly different way of holding your quill. It’s not much to ask.” But it was; that was quite plain on his face.
“There is no need for me to write, poorly or otherwise,” he said, an edge in his voice. “You are the scribe; you are at Whistling Tor to do what I cannot.”
“Perhaps I can do what’s required here by the end of summer and perhaps I can’t,” I said quietly.“But after I’m gone you’ll still keep on studying, as it’s clear you’ve been doing for years.You’ll still need to make notes, to transcribe things, to prepare documents of your own. Think of this as an experiment, as much for my own interest as anything. Please sit down. It will help if you take off your cloak.”
He removed it awkwardly, fumbling with the clasp one-handed. I did not help him.
“I’ve seen left-handed scribes before,” I told him as he sat at the work table.“They all hold the pen the way you do, with the hand curved around. I’ve been wanting to try something like this.You need not change from your usual script, but we’re going to hold the stylus differently, like this.”
“But ...” Anluan began a protest, then fell silent as I moved to stand close behind him, leaning over his left shoulder to guide his arm and hand into the correct position. Teaching a person to write is a very particular task; it cannot be done without a high degree of physical closeness.This is especially so when the tutor is a small person like me and the student a tall, well-built one. The stance required to control the movement of Anluan’s arm and hand brought my cheek close to his and pressed my body against his back.The sensation that swept through me, warm and heady, was not at all appropriate to the situation of teacher and pupil. I felt the blood rush to my face, and was glad Anluan’s attention was on the tablet and stylus.
“It seems wrong, I know,” I told him. “But it feels more comfortable, doesn’t it? Now you’re holding the stylus just as I would with my right hand.”
“I cannot write this way. How can I form the letters?”
“Ah. Here’s where the simple trick comes in. We’re going to turn the tablet sideways.” I moved the wax tablet so that what would have been the top left-hand corner was now at the bottom left, nearest to his writing hand. “I hope you’ll prove my theory correct, Anluan. I want you to try writing from the bottom of the page to the top, instead of left to right. It will require some concentration. Write the letters o, t and g while I’m guiding your hand, and then I’ll leave you to experiment while I do some of my own work.”
Anluan clutched the stylus as if it might attack him.
“Gentler.” I eased his cramped fingers.“Looser. Imagine you’re touching something soft, a cat’s fur, a baby’s fine shawl.That’s it. Form the letters exactly as you usually do. See, your hand is out of the way, and there will be no smudging when you move on to pen and ink. Good! Try a whole word.”
“What should I write?” His jaw was clenched tight.There was a pink flush in his cheeks.
“Whatever you like.” I straightened up and moved back a step. My heart was thumping. That had felt altogether too pleasurable. “Keep practicing. Later you can try it on parchment.”
“That would be a waste of expensive materials.” He glanced at the sheet I had prepared for him, the new quill, the ink pot.
“Don’t tell me you never learned how to scrape down your parchment for reuse.”
“I know how. But—”
“I’ve given you a diluted ink.”
“All the same—”
“Please,” I said.
Out of the corner of my eye I saw his uneven mouth curve into a smile.“Very well,” he said.“I accept your challenge.” He applied himself to his work, but the smile hovered, softening his features.
Time passed. I translated a document in which Nechtan did nothing but rant about his neighbor, Maenach, and another in which he methodically listed the number of lambs, calves and piglets born on his home farm that spring.Then I spotted the name Aislinn.
A trying day.All Hallows draws close and time is short. Our preparations are almost in place. Aislinn came in with her apron full of goldenwood, which she had cut in the ritual manner required. No sooner had we begun the next stage when a hammering on the door disturbed our labors.
The dark mirror called me. I glanced at Anluan; he had set down the stylus and was trying ink and parchment, using the new quill to write from bottom to top along the lines I had scored for him. His hair fell forward, the deep red strands emphasising the pallor of his face.The blue eyes were intent on his work, and he was using his weak right hand to hold the parchment steady.The angle of the quill was good; not perfect, but good. I saw purpose and hope in every part of him, and for a moment it made my breath falter. What had I done here? How had I dared awaken something so fragile in this place of overwhelming sadness?
I turned Nechtan’s document face down without reading any further. I pushed it over to the far edge of my work table, beyond easy reach, then took up the next sheet of ancient parchment.
They have slain the cattle that were Whistling Tor’s livelihood. They have taken lives in the settlement and set fires.Why do they refuse to heed me beyond the border of the Tor? They should be obedient to my will. I revisit the procedure endlessly in my mind, but can find no fault in it.There was no error in the preparations, no omission, no deviation from the form of words. All was carried out exactly as required. But it is wrong. Unleashed, this is no powerful army but a wayward rabble. If I can command their obedience only while I remain on the Tor, I will be set apart from all the world.
And, further down the page, this:
Folk are saying that I am cursed. I will prove them wrong. I will learn how to harness this monster.
“But you didn’t,” I murmured, setting that leaf on top of the other. “You couldn’t.”
“What was that?” Anluan set his quill down and flexed the fingers of his writing hand.
“Nothing. May I look at your work?”
“Of course.You are the teacher.”
I did not insult him with exaggerated praise, though my heart lifted when I saw how well he had absorbed the lesson. As for the fact that he had chosen to practice his script by writing my name—it was on the page three times, each version slightly more regular—that set a warm glow in my heart quite out of proportion to its cause. “Does this feel easier?” I asked. “It’s much more pleasing to the eye.”
“It is better, yes, and my hand hurts less.”
There was something in his tone that made me look at him more closely, seeing what I had missed a moment ago: the smudges under his eyes, the pallor, the droop of the shoulders. “Good work,” I said, keeping my tone light. “That’s enough for now. Ideally, you’d write a page a day with this method, until it came to you without thinking.”
“I must go,” Anluan said abruptly, rising to his feet. “Since I’ve sent Magnus down the hill for the morning, I’ll need to help Olcan with some work on the farm.” He hesitated on the threshold, cloak over his arm.“You look astonished, Caitrin. Cripple as I am, I am not entirely incapable.” Before I could frame a reply, he was gone.
I worked on until hunger drew me to the kitchen, where I assembled a meal of bread and cheese and ate it at the table. I remembered a stray dog Maraid had taken in once, a cowering, wary animal whose past had obviously not been a happy one. My sister had befriended it, using food, warmth and kind words. After a little, the dog took to following her about slavishly; it plainly adored her. But it was never quite at ease. It would cringe at the sound of a spoon dropped on the floor or a sudden sneeze. It would burst into frenzied barking when strangers came to the door. After some months the creature fell foul of a passing cart and was killed; we never knew how long it might have taken to learn trust. If too much harm has been done, perhaps that lesson becomes impossible. Remembering, I saw something of both Anluan and myself in that sad creature.
My simple meal over, I took my cup, platter and knife out to the pump to wash them. As I bent over the bucket, cloth in hand, a familiar voice spoke from behind me.
“Caitrin?”
I straightened, turning to look at Muirne. She had Emer’s violet gown in her hands, the skirt draggling onto the muddy ground by the pump. I saw at a glance that it was in shreds.
“The child,” she said. “I suppose you tried to befriend her. Do not be fooled by what you see. The little one is outwardly angelic. Inside is pure malevolence. No doubt she tugged at your heartstrings as she did with those of Emer, and of Líoch before her. I expect she spoke of her mother, or of being cold.You were kind to her, and look how she’s rewarded you. I’m afraid this gown is fit only to be ripped up for cleaning cloths.”
“No!” I almost snatched the garment from her. “I’m sorry,” I added, forcing my voice to be calm, though my heart was beating fast. “Perhaps I can salvage it.” The child, so small and frail, so innocent ... But she had done her ill work on Róise. “Where did you find this, Muirne?” I was certain I had left my door closed.
“On the gallery, in a heap. Doors and walls will not keep out the host, Caitrin.” She moved closer, putting a hand on my shoulder. “May I offer you some advice?”
“Of course.” Her touch made me uncomfortable.
“You are blundering into a situation you will soon be unable to control. Each day it becomes more risky. I cannot understand you, Caitrin.You see the host rampaging down the hill; straight afterwards you speak to them as if they were your friends.You witness Anluan’s near collapse, brought about by his efforts on your behalf, because of a man who came here in search of you, and instead of allowing him the rest he so desperately needs, you ask him for explanations, then demand that he summon the host again.You are a skilled craftswoman, a person of some intelligence, I must assume. And yet you put yourself at risk. You put Anluan at risk. These are the actions of a fool. Forgive me if I am too blunt for you. Someone must speak. Do you care nothing for him?”
I took a few careful breaths, trying not to hug Emer’s gown too tightly to my breast. I would not lie to her. Nor could I tell her what I realized was the truth: that I was coming to care more than I had ever intended. As for the host, all I had done was try to understand, try to help those I thought were in trouble. All I had done was see them as real men and women.With the tatters of the violet gown in my hands, and the memory of Anluan’s waxen pallor and exhausted eyes fresh in my mind, I felt a chill deep inside me. “Of course I care,” I said. “I don’t want to hurt anyone.”
“Nothing is as it seems here,” Muirne said quietly. “I ask you, as a woman and an equal, to leave Anluan alone. You think to change him, perhaps; to mold him into a form that is more acceptable to you. Men do not change.They cannot.”
I struggled for an appropriate answer. “That’s true of some, I’m sure.” Cillian, for instance. “But not all. Muirne, I’m not trying to change Anluan, I just ...” This was impossible. Anything I said, she would take as a criticism of herself. “I think he could do more,” I said. “Be more. He’s so weighed down by all of this,” I waved an arm vaguely, “he can’t see a way forwards. But he’s perfectly capable of being a proper chieftain; he is not lacking in intelligence, and the fact that he can never excel at hunting, riding or swordsmanship doesn’t mean he can’t be a leader. He’s brave. He’s perceptive. He could do wonders if only he could believe in himself.”
“This is not an ordinary man, Caitrin.You cannot apply the rules of the outside world to Anluan. He is the chieftain of Whistling Tor.”
“He’s an ordinary man as well,” I felt obliged to point out. “To be a chieftain one must first be a man.What he needs is purpose.”
“This is nonsense!” Muirne said, losing some of her customary calm. “You endanger him and you cannot see it! You should have left this place when you had the opportunity.”
I was slow to understand.“What opportunity?You mean I should have gone down the hill with Magnus this morning?”
She made no reply, simply waited until I should summon the wit to grasp her meaning.When I did so I felt cold.
“You’re not telling me I should have let Cillian carry me away, trussed up with a gag over my mouth?You, a woman, think I should have accepted that?”
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