The Well of Shades (44 page)

T
HEY HAD TESTED
the druid beyond pain. Day and night had blurred into a single, continuous waking. His eyes fell on the familiar and found it alien. He lost names; objects no longer made sense to him. Sound was ephemeral and insignificant,
or immediate and terrifying. The call of a forest creature became a dark summons to death; the trickle of a stream echoed the draining away of intellect, of consciousness, of self. He was a stone rolling before the inevitability of the river. He was a feather borne here and there by random winds. He was a bough of rowan awaiting the touch of devouring flame. At the last, when bone and
sinew had been driven and stretched and hammered, when eyes and ears no longer perceived shape and sound as before but knew only a wild continuum of being, when from a winter’s torment his mind emerged, swept clean and bare, he was a still pool: a vessel for the will of the Shining One.
I am ready
, the druid said.

B
RIDEI AND
F
AOLAN
were standing on the parapet wall
at White Hill with Garth keeping watch at a discreet distance. The sun was setting over the Great Glen, edging a tumble of clouds with rose and crimson. It was a measure of Faolan’s particular place in the king’s circle that
Bridei had excused himself from the company of Keother, among others, to seek an immediate and confidential meeting with his newly arrived bodyguard.

There had been no embrace;
Bridei knew better than to offer one, though he considered Faolan his closest friend. Greetings were exchanged, the wish that each was in good health. Bridei provided the news of Anfreda’s arrival; Faolan offered congratulations. Then it was down to business.

On both sides the news was worrying. Colmcille was already on the shores of Dalriada and, in Faolan’s considered opinion, likely to head
for White Hill sooner rather than later. Carnach was apparently plotting some kind of coup, or at the very least a serious challenge to the king. Broichan absent; Keother and his young cousin at court. The most experienced of jugglers finds so many extra balls a challenge.

While Faolan talked, Bridei wondered how much he could ask about his right-hand man’s journey. Had Faolan seen his family?
Resolved whatever it was he’d had to deal with there? Faolan’s expression was a well-governed mask. His dark eyes were guarded. Whatever had occurred during the time away, his self-control appeared intact.

“We must choose our priority,” Bridei said. “You and I, that is. I’ll have Aniel call a select meeting for tomorrow. Fola’s here; that’s fortunate in view of Broichan’s continuing absence.
We’ll put this to them. Faolan, my instincts are pulling me in a certain direction. I want to know if you agree.”

“Before I give you my opinion, tell me what the situation is with Broichan. If the Christians decide to make you a visit while these other issues remain unresolved, you’ll need your druid to deal with Colm. I understand Broichan disappeared, leaving no word of where he was headed.”

“We’ve heard nothing. He seems to have vanished from Fortriu entirely. Were it not for Tuala’s visions, we’d have
believed him dead. She remains confident that he’ll come back.”

“He’d want to hurry,” observed Faolan drily.

“Tuala’s instincts are sound. He’ll be here in time, unless these Christians possess wondrous powers of transportation.”

“Colm knows how to sail. I can’t say the same for
the rest of them.”

Bridei folded his arms, leaning his back against the wall. “If you were in my shoes, what would you do first?” he asked quietly. “Speak freely.”

For the first time Faolan seemed hesitant.

“What is it?” Bridei asked.

“Nothing. I believe we have a little time, not much, but perhaps sufficient for your druid to make his way back to White Hill before Colmcille decides to head
up the Glen. Keother we can deal with; he’s here, right under our noses, and that should keep him out of trouble. The girl probably isn’t important. Keother knows she may be the next hostage. He knows we expect his best behavior. Let us hope it shames him to be the only leader not recognized for a contribution to last autumn’s war. You must still hold your victory feast. Cancel that, and you offend
your chieftains and disappoint their families. It would be taken as a sign of indecision. In view of your choice not to seek the crown of Circinn, it could be seen as weakness.”

“Go on.” Thank the gods for Faolan, Bridei thought. There was nobody else so astute, or so prepared to advise his king in total honesty. He realized anew how badly he had missed his friend.

“I see the matter of Carnach
as the greatest threat,” Faolan said, “the one crying out for our immediate attention. When I first heard of this rebellion I found it hard to believe. Carnach a traitor? Carnach whom we know and respect so well? If he’s done this, it must be with a heavy heart; he loves Fortriu and I would have sworn his loyalty to you was unflinching. But now you tell me there
have been other rumors along the
same lines as the one I heard, tales brought from many quarters. Someone must go and find out the truth. Not a large party of armed warriors; not an official emissary such as Tharan or Aniel. Someone who can slip by unnoticed.”

Faolan stood relaxed, features calm. All the same, there was a tension there that Bridei could almost feel. The silence drew out.

“Is something wrong?”

“Wrong? You mean,
other than the weighty matters we’ve just set out?” Faolan’s brows lifted.

Bridei spoke carefully, choosing each word. Negotiating a conversation with Faolan on personal matters required a degree of skill that was often beyond even him. “I notice you don’t immediately volunteer your services. Both of us know this requires your particular expertise. I recognize that you’ve only just returned from
a lengthy absence. But the need to go straight from one mission to the next has never stopped you before.”

Faolan did not respond. He was staring into the distance as if he had not heard.

“Perhaps you’re not aware,” Bridei went on, “that Ana’s and Drustan’s wedding is to take place in the near future, just before the victory feast. Broichan’s absence delayed it. I imagine, based on your attitude
last autumn, that you will not wish to be at White Hill for the handfasting.”

“I know about the wedding. I saw them at Pitnochie.” Faolan’s expression forbade further probing. “I’ll go, of course. How soon?”

“I want you here for tomorrow’s meeting,” Bridei said. “It will be small. Only those men and women in whom I have unconditional trust. You’ll need a couple of nights’ rest before you leave.
One of the fellows who brought news is still here; you may wish to hear his account.”

“I don’t require rest. I’ll go as soon as you need me to go.”

“Very well. I value your loyalty, Faolan. And your honesty. Make no doubt of that.”

Faolan gave a stiff nod.

“Tuala would like to see you.” Bridei gestured to Garth that they were going indoors. “I think it’s important you hear what she has to
say about Broichan, for that matter is equally significant, if perhaps less urgent.”

“If you wish.” Faolan’s voice sounded tight.

“To be quite honest,” Bridei said, masking his concern, for something was wrong, that was plain, but he could see his friend had no wish to speak of it, “I can’t wait to show you my new daughter, although I know you have no interest in little children. She’s the image
of my wife as an infant.” For a moment they were two equals, not Priteni king and Gaelic guard. “You set hard rules for yourself,” Bridei added. “Too hard, sometimes.”

“An essential part of the job. So I remind myself.”

Bridei headed down the stone steps toward the garden. Near the bottom, he heard Faolan’s voice from behind him, the tone quite different.

“Bridei—?”

Bridei turned. Faolan was
in the shadows near the top of the steps; he had barely moved.

“What is it, Faolan?” There was something there, an unease, a reservation.

Garth loomed behind the Gael, a watchful presence, spear in hand.

Faolan shook his head, not in a negative, but as if to clear his mind of unwelcome thoughts. “Nothing,” he said, descending the steps. “Nothing at all.”

(from Brother Suibne’s Account)

We have visited the island. Another voyage; another test of faith and fortitude. Ioua is a place of deep calm, for all its winds and tides. Walking on that pale shore, I felt my soul swept clean of sin, my heart relieved of all burdens. Colm said
, This is an isle of new beginnings,
and our spirits knew it for truth.
God wants us here; it is His place
.

The fisherman who brought us across
—
we did not take our own boat, for several of our brethren had not the will to sail again so soon
—
let us wander at length. He followed us with eyes like the sea, deep and watchful. When it was time to leave, he took us to the larger isle off whose coast Ioua lies, and thence back to Dunadd
.

If Brother Colm chafed before at
the need to stay here in this half-court with its ailing monarch and wary guards, it is nothing to his mood now. He questioned me again about Bridei and his druid. He quizzed me on the faith of the Priteni, their deities and rituals. I have spoken to him on these matters many times, but I told it again. This time I spoke of the Well of Shades and the ceremony that required the sacrifice of human
life to a god who remains ever nameless. Colm heard me out in silence. For once he asked no questions. Those will come later
.

Tonight, I examine my heart to discover why it was that I felt such reluctance to divulge that final dark truth about the folk of Fortriu. Perhaps I recognized that, after a certain point in the narrative, even the most perspicacious and balanced of listeners would cease
to hear my words. It is too shocking: a thing brought forward in time from a primitive existence based on fear. I do not think
Colm heard me tell him that Bridei had forbidden the practice, or that this king had only ever participated once. Perhaps that is why I never put it into words before. The king of Fortriu is a good man, a man of sound principles. To tell this tale is to seem to discredit
Bridei. I would rather he and Colm met without prejudice and without illusions
.

Arrogant soul! I read my words fresh on the page and cringe in mortification. Who am I, that I would order the lives of king and priest to a pattern that happens to please me? Who is this lowly scribe, God’s servant?

After reflection, I pick up the pen again. Like each and every one of my brethren, I am indeed God’s
well-beloved child and servant. He will light the way for me, for Colm, for each of us. I wonder who lights Bridei’s way?

We have Ioua in our eyes now, those of us who made the trip there. Colm has sent Sean, who was raised on a farm, and Tomas, who was a carpenter, across to the larger island to make the acquaintance of folk in the settlements there. When the time is right they will see about
the acquisition of building materials and livestock. We will need a dwelling house, a small church, places for stores, a barn, a byre… My heart shrinks as I contemplate the conveyance of cattle by sea
.

The island is not ours; not yet. It is in Bridei’s gift. Before we can begin our new life on that lonely, peaceful shore, there must be a meeting. Bridei has forbidden the practice of our faith
in these parts. He has banished many souls back over the sea to our homeland. There is no reason to assume he will look on Colm’s request favorably
.

I remember the druid, Broichan, a man with authority stamped on every corner of his being. He is a figure much feared even among his own. Broichan is not simply Bridei’s spiritual adviser, but also his foster father. He is skilled in magic, so they
say. Colm asked about that. He said
, So this man is impressed by tricks, shows of
power? Demonstrations of the wondrous and unnatural?
I do not know what Colm plans. His own power is in his voice and in his eye; it comes from God. Broichan must see in Colm an adversary, a threat to his own dominion. He will come to the council table with eyes and ears already closed. As for Colm himself, I regret
my honesty in giving him the account of the Gateway ritual in all its cruel detail
.