Heart's Blood

came like a peal of bells. “What did I say?” The look she turned on Anluan was almost affectionate, like that of a wife teasing a husband for his endearing clumsiness.“Caitrin got it wrong.You got it wrong.You are no sorcerer.” She turned in place, surveying the folk of the host, folk who had just seen their dearest hope dashed. “He’s failed you,” she said.“You were fools to expect anything else.”

“Shut your poisonous mouth!” roared Gearrog, stepping towards her with hands outstretched as if to take her by the neck and throttle her. Others moved too, the old warrior Broc, one or two of the younger men.

“Hold still!” called Anluan, and they did. “Do not disturb the pattern!”

“This is over, Anluan,” Aislinn said. “You can’t do it. Admit it. Your foolish woman there has made a promise you can’t keep.This does not end so easily.”

“Be silent!” Anluan roared. Out in the circle the ghost child began to cry, a little, woeful sound.

“What do we do now?” muttered Magnus.

Think, Caitrin. The Latin words had been right, I was sure of it.The pattern was right; the herbs were as close as we could get them.The elemental greetings had been carefully worded—Anluan’s reluctance to tread the path of sorcery had made that essential.This was the right place, the right time . . . I gazed across the circle, desperate for an answer, and met the limpid eyes of Aislinn. I remembered Nechtan’s lust for her, the way he’d seen her every move as an invitation. She’d been young, pretty, desirable—for him, perhaps more desirable because she was also clever. That girl in the first vision had begun to lose her conscience, but she was far from the evil being who stood amongst us now. Nechtan had wanted her. He had chosen not to bed her. He had known that to do so would ruin his great work of magic.

And that was the answer.There was only one thing wrong here, and it was not the spell of banishment. “Anluan,” I said, “we must do it again.”

He looked at me, face ashen white in the moonlight, the irregularity of his features more marked than usual.

“But not with Aislinn in the center,” I said. “That’s why she was so willing, because she knew it was wrong.When Nechtan was preparing for the ritual, he needed her as an innocent, a maiden untouched—he resisted temptation to keep her that way.That must have been a requirement of the spell.After the evil she has wrought here over a hundred years, Aislinn can no longer play this part. Someone else must stand there: a young girl who is untainted by sin.”

A restless whispering among the folk of the host. A stir in their ranks, and the ghost girl was pushed gently to the front.

“No!” I cried, finding it suddenly hard to breathe. Not this little one, so frail, so tender. She had trusted me, whispered her sorrow to me, taken refuge in my bed. She had asked me . . . My heart skipped a beat. Dear God, this was what we had to do. This, which felt so wrong, was the way to work the counterspell. It was the opposite of what had happened the first time.This was no living girl, but a spirit. If she stood in the center, she would be left behind, left in this world when the others departed.And that was just what she wanted. “Anluan,” I said, “I think this is right. But first we must make the child a promise.”

His eyes were on Aislinn, and when I followed his gaze, I saw a dawning horror on her face. “I’m sure it’s right,” I added in an undertone.

Aislinn moved, lightning quick, bolting out of the center heedless of the pattern. Sand scattered. Before she could break through the folk of the host, two pairs of strong arms halted her flight: Cathair’s on one side, Gearrog’s on the other.

“A promise,” Anluan said. “What promise?”

“That if she stays, we will be mother and father to her.” I considered the long years ahead with a child who could never get warm, a child who would remain as she was, five years old, while Anluan and I grew old and weary. She was a spirit; how could it be otherwise?

“Men, hold Muirne there,” Anluan ordered. “Olcan, please step into the circle and remake the pattern for us.”The authoritative tone gave way to a gentler one. He moved down the steps, stood by the outer edge of the pattern, squatted down. “Little one,” he said, “come forward.”

The child approached, careful to keep her feet clear of the lines of sand. Not too close; she was not quite sure of him.

“We need you to help us,” Anluan said. “You’ll have to be very brave; as brave as Olcan’s big dog who saved me today. Can you do that?”

A bob of the thistledown head.

“The others are going away,” he said carefully. “Cathair and Gearrog, Rioghan and Eichri and all these people, they’re going to another place. If you want, you can stay with Caitrin and me.You can stay here.We will be your mother and father. Is that what you want?”

“No!” Aislinn’s scream cut through the air, brittle as fine glass. “You can’t do this!” Held fast in the two men’s grip, she thrashed and fought, her fair hair flying.

“Be still, Muirne! Hold your tongue!”

She obeyed; Anluan had always been able to command her on the Tor, and his control still held, though her eyes were desperate.

“Don’t be scared,” Anluan said to the little girl. “Just whisper it to me, yes or no.Will you help us? Would you like to stay?”

The child nodded, her solemn gaze locked on his pale face. She whispered something, but it was only for Anluan’s ears.

“Very well,” he said, rising to his feet. “You must go over there, to the middle of the big star, and stand very still until I say you can move. Can you do that?”

Aislinn’s lips were moving, though she made no sound. I imagined her words: Don’t send me away, please, please! I love you! But Anluan was watching the little girl as she picked her way across the lines of sand.

The child stood in the center, feet together, bundle tight against her chest. The moonlight shone on her