Son of the Shadows
“He wouldn’t let us wake you,” said Snake apologetically. “Not in the best of moods, is the chief, as we predicted. But he’s alive. You’ve done it.”
“He is up, and walking?” I could not believe it. He had been near death. Surely this was some cruel dream. “He shouldn’t be out of bed. How could you let him—?”
“Gave us no choice. Near bit our heads off. But he’s had plenty of water, and as I said, he’s being watched. Best left alone for now.”
“Fetching outfit,” remarked Gull, looking me up and down.
I blushed. “Where are my clothes?”
“Somewhere being spruced up for you. We’ll find you some fresh ones. You’ll be needing them.”
“I must go—I must—”
“Maybe not yet,” said Gull. “Gave us orders. Leave him alone. Later, maybe.”
My father cleared his throat. “I’ve spoken with him at some length, Liadan. I told the story as you bid me. You should perhaps heed these men’s advice and give him time.”
“I don’t think so,” I said, and I walked away under the beeches in my bare feet and my ill-fitting shirt; down to the northern end of the pool where a great tree had fallen long ago. Now its massive trunk was overgrown with fine mosses, and its cracks and crevices, its small, shadowy passages held the lairs and hiding places of a myriad of tiny creatures.
I suppose I had not really believed it, not quite, until I saw him, seated on the rocks beyond this tree with his back to me and an obstinacy in the set of the shoulders that I recognized well enough. He wore his old clothes of indefinable color, and they hung on him like the garments of a far larger man. He was looking down, and in his hands he turned the little silver locket over and over. I longed to run forward, to wrap my arms around him and reassure myself that this was real and not some false vision. But I went cautiously, my bare feet making no sound. Still, this man was an expert at what he did. He spoke without turning, halting me when I was ten paces away. His voice was tightly controlled.
“Your father leaves this morning. You’d best pack up and go with him. Best for you. Best for the child. There’s nothing for you here.”
It took every scrap of will I had not to burst into tears, not to give him the opportunity, again, to tell me a woman cried when it suited her, just to get what she wanted. It took every bit of restraint I could muster not to walk up and slap him on the cheek, and point out to him that while I might not want gratitude, I did not expect to be dismissed like a hireling whose task is complete. I had learned a lot since first I met him. I had learned that the most evasive, the most difficult quarry must be taken with care and patience and subtlety.
“I—I remember you told me once,” I said, holding my voice as steady as I could, “that you would not lie to me. Did my father happen to mention a promise he made me?”
There was a long pause before he replied.
“Don’t make this more difficult for the two of us, Liadan,” he said, and as I came close, I could see how his hands were trembling where they held the locket.
“Did he?”
“Yes.”
“Very well. So you know that this choice will be my own and not my father’s.”
“How can there be a choice? It is no more than common sense that you should leave me. What future can there be for … for …”
I came up to him and moved to stand before him, three paces away. If anyone were to break the code this time, it would not be me.
“Look at me, Bran,” I said. “Look at me, and tell me you want me to go. Tell me the truth.”
But he stared down at his hands and would not. “You must indeed think me weak,” he muttered. “After this, I will forfeit any respect.”
And despite all his efforts, I could see the mark of a tear on his face, gleaming on the patterned side, where he had not been able to hold it back.
“I wish I could dry these tears,” I said softly. “I wish I could make this better for you, but I don’t know how.”
There was the tiniest silence; a heartbeat of time, while the trees and rocks and the very currents of air seemed to hold their breath. Then he reached out his hand, blindly, and took my arm, and pulled me toward him. I stood there with his head against my breast and my arms wrapped around his shoulders, as he set free the rest of the tears he had held back for so long.
“There, Bran. It’s all right. It’s all right now. Weep, dear heart.”
It was a long time, or a short time. Who can say? The men left us undisturbed, and the tall beeches looked on in silence, and the sun climbed higher in a cool autumn sky. It is not such a terrible thing for a grown man to weep. Not when he has eighteen years of grief and sorrow within him; not when at last, after such a long and painful journey, he has found the truth. Eventually he was done, and I used a corner of my disreputable attire to wipe his face for him and said, rather severely, “You should not even be out of bed. Did you have anything to eat this morning, or were you too busy giving orders?”
I moved to seat myself by him on the rocks, close by, so that our bodies touched.
“It was indeed wondrous to wake,” he said shakily, “and find you lying there beside me, and not a stitch of clothing between us. Both wondrous and frustrating since I was so weak all I could do was look at you. Even now, I can scarce lift my arm to put it around you, let alone take advantage of this interesting garment you wear. I suspect there is little between it and yourself.”
“Ah,” I said, and felt a blush rise to my cheeks. “You’re acquiring a sense of humor. I like that. There will be other mornings.”
“How can there be, Liadan? How can there be time for us? You cannot live among the men, traveling by stealth, always looking over your shoulder, outcast, pursued. I could never subject you, or him, to that risk. The decision lies outside what you or I might want for ourselves. Your safety must be the first consideration. Besides, how could you stay with me after what has happened? I allowed myself to be taken by—that man; I allowed Gull to be maimed, and you to endure the most appalling treatment, you and my son. Now I am reduced to a shivering, weeping shadow of a man. What must you think of me?”
“I have not changed my opinion of you since last we met,” I said steadily.
“What are you saying, Liadan?” Still he stared at the ground and would not meet my eyes. I slipped off the rock where we sat and went to kneel before him, giving him no choice but to look at me. I put my hands around his, and the silver locket was held, protected, by the two of us.
“Remember,” I said quietly, “you asked me back at Sevenwaters what I wanted for myself? I said you were not ready to hear it. Do you think you are ready now? How much do you remember of what has happened here?”
“Enough. Enough to know we walked through years, not days. Enough to know you were there beside me. It is this that makes it so hard. I should order you to go and let that be an end of it. I know what is right. But—but I find that this time it is, after all, beyond me to bid you farewell. I hold my mother’s love in my hand here and know love endures beyond death. That a heart once given is given forever.”
I nodded, with tears dangerously close. “She hid her most cherished things,” I said. “This locket, with the tokens of her lost ones. Her small purse, bearing the symbols of who she was and whence she came. And her little son. She gave her life for you. John gave his life in the service of his friend and kinsman. That is the truth.”
He nodded soberly. “I have been wrong about some things. You will not hear me recognizing Hugh of Harrowfield as a hero, but I find the man has some good points. He was very straight with me. I respect that. He is more like you than I could have imagined.”
“He’s known for his honesty.”
“Liadan.”
I looked into his eyes. His face was starkly pale, his features drained, exhausted. But the eyes were giving me another message entirely. They were hungry.
“I haven’t answered, have I? Haven’t told you what I want? Do I need to say it, Bran
?”
He nodded, without saying a word.
“I told you I had not changed my opinion of you, not since you came to me at Sevenwaters and we so nearly forgot the rest of the world for a time. What has happened these last days is a part of our journey together. Together we suffer and endure and change and walk forward again, hand in hand. I think you strong beyond belief; at times too strong for your own good. I see in you a leader, a man of vision and daring. I see a man who is still afraid to love, and to laugh; but who is learning both now that he knows the truth about himself. I see the only man I would have for my husband and the father of my children. You and no other, Bran.”
He lifted his hand and reached out to touch my cheek, very carefully, as if he must learn how to do this again, now that everything had changed.
“This is a—a proposal of marriage?” he asked me, and there was the very smallest trace of a smile at the corner of his mouth, something I had never seen before.
“I suppose so,” I said, blushing again. “And, as you see, I’m doing it properly, on my knees.”
“Hmm. This would, however, be a partnership of equals you’re offering, I imagine?”
“Undoubtedly.”
“I cannot speak the words. I cannot bring myself to refuse you. And yet, how can I accept? You ask the impossible.” His face was bleak again. “You ask me to subject those I love best to a life of danger and night. How can I agree to such a thing?”
“Ah,” I said, “I would not have told you this, not yet; but you give me no choice. It seems there is a place for you— for us—in Britain, at Harrowfield. A place and a mission. So my father tells me. His brother’s hold on the estate weakens; Edwin of Northwoods watches closely, thinking to broaden his own domain. My father cannot return there to help them, but you could go. It need not be now; but it is something to consider. This is your father’s land, Bran; these are your father’s people. You scorned Lord Hugh once for turning his back on Harrowfield to follow his heart. Now he gives you the chance to do what he cannot: to help Simon strengthen and unite these good folk once more.”
There was a lengthy silence, and I began to regret my words. Perhaps I had been right before. Perhaps it was too soon to tell him.
“Hugh of Harrowfield would trust me with this?” Bran asked softly.
I looked into his eyes. There was no mistaking the light newkindled there, a flame of hope and purpose.
“He would trust John’s son,” I said. “And so, in time, would the folk of Harrowfield, when you proved yourself.”
“You would do this? You would come with me, all the way to Britain? Live among foreigners, away from your family?”
“I would not be away from my family, Bran. Wherever the three of us travel, that is home. Besides, you forget. I am half Briton myself. Simon of Harrowfield is my uncle; these folk are both mine and yours.”
He gave a little nod; his hand tightened on mine. “I can scarce believe this,” he said. “And yet I do believe it. My mind already jumps to what can be done and how we will achieve it. I fear to return there; it is a place of darkness and terror. And yet I long to return and make things right again. I long to prove what seemed impossible: that I can be my father’s son.”
His words made me want to weep; I was still bone weary from the night before and from changes that came so fast I could scarce keep up with them.
“The men,” Bran said suddenly. “What about the men? Where will they go? I cannot leave them alone, without a place and a purpose.”
“Well, now,” I said, “it may be these men are more resourceful than you think. Let’s go up to the fire. Can you stand? Walk, with my help? Good. Use my shoulder for support. Go on, do it. Nobody expects you to exhibit godlike strength, excepting maybe yourself. That head wound alone was enough to kill a man. You’ve been starved for days, and you’re all over bruises. I want to see you drinking some water and eating a little porridge. Your men have a proposition to put before you, one that will interest you and answer many of your concerns. They have kept watch for their chief most faithfully, Bran. You might perhaps manage a kind word or two. And I must bid my father farewell, for he is needed at home. Later, we will speak with him further of these things.”
“I—” He stood swaying, chalk faced, like a ghost of himself.
“Come, dear heart. Lean on me and let us walk this path together.”
They knew him very well. And so neither Gull nor Snake nor any of the others sprang up to offer support as we walked slowly and carefully toward the fire. Nobody made any fuss or any comment. But there was a place to sit for the two of us, and water to drink, as well as ale, and plain oaten porridge in earthenware bowls. My father was still there, but he was dressed for departure.
“You have something to tell me, I understand,” Bran said, with a forbidding scowl on his face, once he was seated. Around us many men were gathered, all of them, I thought, except the few who kept obligatory watch on the perimeters of the camp. There was an air of deep expectancy about them, but this was soon shattered by the arrival of Rat, bearing my wailing son.
“You’d better go on without me,” I said, taking the child into my arms and rising to my feet. “This is men’s business, I suppose.”
“You belong here,” Bran said quietly. “We will wait for you.” He turned back to look at Gull, with his bandaged hands; at Snake, whose patterned features bore the pallor of more than one sleepless night; at Otter and Spider, who had ridden out on a mission; at big, grim Wolf and at young Rat, guardian of what was smallest and most precious. “I’ve got a few things to say to you all,” he began.
As I fed Johnny in the shelter, I watched these men, and I hoped they would not speak of Eamonn and of what he had done. It was clear my father had not yet learned the truth; and indeed, he must be kept in ignorance of it. The balance would indeed be delicate now between the partners of the alliance, and I must lose no time in telling Bran what bargain I had struck with his enemy to secure his release.
Johnny was soon finished and wriggling on my lap, ready for more adventures. I set him on the ground, observing that his clothing had changed somewhat from the neat shirt and leggings in which he had traveled out from Sevenwaters. It seemed so long ago, it was as if the whole world had changed since that day. Someone had been busy with the needle, and now my son wore a small jacket of deerskin, and boots of the same soft hide, neatly sewn with narrow strips of leather. A kind of tunic went underneath the jacket, covering him down to the boot tops. Its fabric was woven in stripes, blue, brown, a deep red. A fine cloth; someone had sacrificed a garment of his own for this small masterpiece to be created. Johnny began to creep out of the shelter, and I plucked him up in my arms and ventured forth.
“I’ll take him for a while,” said my father as I came up. “You will not wish me to be present, I imagine, for your planning.”
“You should stay, I think.” As I spoke, I glanced questioningly at Bran. “For this plan, if it goes ahead, will involve my brother, and so yourself. You should know of it.”
Bran’s scowl deepened.
“She’s right,” Gull said. “Either this goes ahead with the help of Sevenwaters, or things stay as they are. There’s no risk in telling him.”
“I’m not liking the sound of this,” said Bran. “Come on then, out with it.” His tone was fierce; but when I went to sit by him, and slipped my hand into his, I could feel his trembling and knew the control he must exert to appear as he did. His scowl gave a clear message. I am the Painted Man. Think me weak at your peril.
So they told him. They laid it out before him, as my father sat on the ground with his grandson between his legs, playing a little game with twigs and leaves. One after another, they spoke. It had been well rehearsed. Gull outlined the bare bones of the plan. Snake elaborated a little. There were no emotive arguments; no talk of women and settling down. Simply a neat structure of logic, of advantages to be gained and profits made, and of how certain problems might be overcome. Otter came next.
He could have known of the plan only since his return last night, but he set out full details of how the venture would be paid for and how my brother might be involved, and of how gains could be shared among all after the costs of running the establishment were covered. Of how, in time, Sean’s investment could be repaid, in silver or cattle or services.
Bran had not said a single word, and his expression gave nothing away. As for my father, it was as well he sat a little apart, watching Johnny, for I could see the shocked look on his face and how he struggled to remain quiet.
“There’s a matter of accommodation.” Now it was the turn of big Wolf, usually a man of very few words. “I’m told there’s a croft or two on this island, and some stone walls to keep the sheep from the cliffs. We’ll need more. Simple, low, built for wild weather. I’ve some skill in building. I could teach the rest of you. We’d set it up thus—” He squatted down and began to draw with a stick on the earth, and all watched him with deep concentration. “ … thatch, well tied … practice yard …”
I was weary again, and I laid my head on Bran’s shoulder, almost without thinking. His hand tightened on mine, and I caught my father’s glance. Already it held the shadow of another farewell.
They finished. There was a silence in which nobody seemed to wish to speak first. It was Iubdan who broke it.
“You wish me to put this—proposition—to my son when I return to Sevenwaters? You are aware, I suppose, that Sean has come to the leadership of his túath but recently and bears a heavy load for one so young?”
Bran gave a nod. “Lord Liam was a strong leader, a man of balance. No doubt he’ll be missed in these parts. But your son has the ability to do better, in time. He has vision. There’s no need for you to speak to him of this. I must consider it first. If I decide to go ahead with it, I’ll set up a meeting. I’ve information for Sean, information he sent me to gather.”
“I could, I suppose, take it back for him,” my father said. His tone was less than enthusiastic.
Bran frowned. “Such intelligence is best not shared, unless strictly necessary. The risk is minimized if one man tells it direct to the other. I’ll meet with Sean when the time’s right.”