Heart's Blood

“You put up a brave fight down there yourself, Olcan,” said Rioghan. “Expert hand with the axe.”

“Did what I could.Wish I could have saved him.”

“Fianchu showed exemplary courage,” said Anluan. “He was a dear friend to us all. I owe him my life. I owe the two of you a debt of gratitude that can never be repaid.This is not your struggle.”

“Ah, well.” Olcan accepted the ale cup Magnus offered him. “Maybe it’s not, but I feel like part of your family now, and so did he. He was a good dog, Fianchu.” His simple epitaph spoken, he lifted the cup, drank, set it back down. “Welcome home, Caitrin. Didn’t think to say it before. It’s good to see you.”

“Gearróg said you had urgent news for us, Caitrin,” Anluan said. “He’s standing guard beyond the door there, and we’ve sent Cathaír round to the other side, so we’ll be warned if anyone comes. Tell us what has happened.”

We seated ourselves at the table, though Olcan stayed on the floor. I told them the tale of Nechtan’s experiment, so nearly successful but turned awry by the girl who had not wanted to give up her life so her mentor could have his uncanny army; her discovery of the counterspell, her delight at her own cleverness, her despair when she could not use the words to save herself. The curse pronounced in silence, the curse whose form I knew because the obsidian mirror gave me a window into the mind of whoever had written the text that lay beside it. One hundred years of ill luck; one hundred years of sorrow; one hundred years of failure.

“And she had the power to make it work,” I said, as my audience sat around me hushed and still.“She had learned far more from Nechtan than he probably ever realized; she was as apt as he was at the casting of spells. I will shadow your steps and those of all you hold dear, that was part of it. She has done so for four generations, stirring up the host and whispering words of despair to each chieftain in turn. She has used her skills in sorcery to add to the chaos.”

“But . . .” Anluan’s arm was tense against mine. “How could I not see this? How could I not recognize it? You’re saying all of it, the voice they fear so much, the frenzy that causes them to lose their minds and attack at random, has been entirely her doing?”

“I believe so,” I said.

“Great God, Caitrin!” exclaimed Anluan. “If anyone other than you had told me this I would have dismissed it as sheer fantasy. Whispering words of despair. That rings true. I have been all too ready to believe them. To claim them as my own. I must have been blind.”

“I suppose,” I said, “that part of her skill may be in making others see her as perfectly harmless.” She hadn’t tried very hard with me; her enmity had been plain from the start. Still, it had taken me a very long time, almost too long, to realize the extent of her malice and her power.“It seems your father spent time with her, perhaps even seeking her help with his botanical work and welcoming her companionship after your mother died. But . . . well, there’s something I found that I think you should read now. It was stored away with Muirne’s personal things.” I fished Irial’s last notebook out from the pouch at my belt, opened it at the first page and gave it to him.

In the silence that ensued, Magnus got up and poked the fire, I refilled people’s cups, and Olcan sat quietly with his old friend. Rioghan and Eichri looked at each other across the table, the shadow of a looming farewell removing all trace of their customary sardonic humor. When Anluan had finished reading, he sat in silence for a little. Then he said flatly, “She killed him. He wanted to live, and she killed him.”

“I believe so.Your father died from the same poison she used on you.” I glanced at Magnus, whose eyes had widened. “In this letter, Irial writes of making the decision to step out from his fog of grief; he tells the shade of Emer that he will never forget her, but that he will watch her live on in Anluan. It is not the message of a man about to kill himself from despair. Aislinn—Muirne—chose to keep this from Anluan, and from you, Magnus. She loved him, and she wanted to keep everything the way she believed it should be here on Whistling Tor. It was bad enough that Irial loved Emer as he could never love Aislinn.When he wanted to bring hope to the Tor and the folk who lived here, when he wanted a life for his son that would be better than his own, Aislinn must have seen it as a betrayal. She couldn’t bear it. So she ended it. I believe she was responsible for your mother’s death as well, Anluan. That could never be proven, of course.” I said nothing of Conan and Líoch.This was more than enough for now.

“Holy Mother of God,” muttered Magnus. “The uncanny fire; the way nobody saw a thing until it was too late . . .”

“Fire without smoke; smoke without fire. The method is in one of those grimoires. As I said, she was—is—an able practitioner of sorcery.”