Heart's Blood

How could you do that to me? How could you leave it there, knowing what power it had? It pulled me in; it made me feel . . .” That had been the worst part of it, the sensation that I actually was that evil man and was thinking those thoughts and doing those things myself, because I wanted to. Here in the garden birds were singing, plants were growing, the sun was shining. But a shadow had touched an inward part of me, and I did not think it would be easily banished. “It made me feel dirty,” I said in a whisper.

“What mirror?” asked Anluan. When I only gaped at him, he added, “This house is full of such artifacts. Magnus was supposed to warn you not to look in them.” He had seated himself on the other end of the bench, as far from me as he could manage, and was not meeting my eye but glaring across the garden at nothing in particular.There was neither sympathy nor apology in his expression. “You’ve been hired to read the documents,” he said, “not to meddle with what doesn’t concern you.”

His anger tied a new knot in my stomach. Be brave, Caitrin. Stand up for yourself. “The mirror was stored with the documents,” I said shakily. “I wasn’t meddling, simply being thorough. How could I possibly be prepared for what happened?”

He did not respond. I worked on my breathing, wondering how long it would take Muirne to bring the water.Then Anluan said coolly, “I need a scribe with fortitude. Perhaps you are not suited to Whistling Tor.”

A little flicker of anger awoke in me. “I have plenty of fortitude for reading, writing and translation, my lord. Magnus did warn me about the mirrors. But . . . perhaps he didn’t know about this one. It was . . .” I shuddered and put my hands over my face, but the sickening images still paraded before my eyes. “It showed me what was in the documents as if I were really there. It put someone else’s thoughts into my mind, as if he and I were the same . . . Lord Anluan, I’m not prepared to go back into the library while that mirror is there on the table. It would be unreasonable to expect that.What I saw was . . . disgusting. It was evil.”

After a silence, the chieftain of Whistling Tor said, “What are you telling me? That despite your claims of expertise, you do not wish to do this work after all? Hah!” It was a derisive bark, bitter and painful. “This is no surprise.You’re running away as everyone else has done. Nobody stays here.”

“Magnus stays,” I pointed out. Talking to Anluan was a little like reasoning with an angry child. “And I’m not running away. I didn’t say I was leaving.”

“If you will not enter the library, you cannot complete the task.” A silence. He glanced towards the archway, shifting restlessly on the bench.“I need the work done. There is nobody else to do it. Tell me what you saw in this mirror.What can be so horrifying that it turns a capable scribe—if that is indeed what you are—into a quivering, vomiting wretch?”

I swallowed the retort that sprang to my lips. “I’ve no wish to think about it, let alone talk about it. My lord,” I added belatedly, not wishing to provoke his anger further. “Could you arrange for the mirror to be removed before I continue with the work?”

“Ah. So you will go back into my library?”

An image of the future came to my mind. Say no, and I’d be on the road again with no money, no friends and pursuit getting closer every day. I would indeed be running away, for as long as it took Cillian to find me and drag me back to Market Cross. “I might consider it, under the right conditions,” I said.

“Tell me what you saw in this mirror,” Anluan said, and fixed his unusual blue eyes on me with some intensity. I returned his gaze, thinking that if there were not that lopsided quality to his face, he would be quite a fine-looking man, his features strong, his skin of the very fair kind that flushes easily. His mouth was well shaped, though more given to solemnity than smiles. But all was awry, as if frost had blighted him on one side only, leaving a creature who was two in one, strong and weak, sun and shadow. I was staring. Remembering what Magnus had said, I turned my eyes away.

“Did you really not know it was in the chest?” I asked him. “Magnus told me the transcription on the little table was yours.The documents you were working on were in that same box.”

“Would you accuse me of lying?” His tone was wintry. “Answer my question.What did the mirror show you?”

I forced myself to tell the tale of blood, death and vaunting ambition. Anluan listened in silence to my halting account, and when I was finished he said calmly, “You must continue the work. I will put this mirror away before tomorrow.”

“Thank you,” I said, but I needed more than that. “What can you tell me about Nechtan? Magnus explained that his documents are the ones you want me to look at. It will be easier to pick them out if I know a little of his history. Magnus told me you are the only person here who can read, my lord. Otherwise I wouldn’t trouble you with my questions.”

“Nechtan was my great-grandfather. The oldest writings are his.You will find a few by my grandfather, Conan, and then there are my father’s notebooks.”

“What was your father’s name, my lord?”

“Irial.” His tone shut off further questions.“I will deal with the mirror now.You should take time to compose yourself. Start the work afresh tomorrow, and heed Magnus’s warnings in the future. Stick to the job you’ve been hired to do, and don’t interfere with what doesn’t concern you.You can’t expect to understand everything here at Whistling Tor, and there’s no need for you to do so. It’s a place unlike other places. Or so I’m told. I need you to stay. I need the work done.”

He rose and limped into the library, leaving me alone in the walled garden. Irial’s garden, Magnus had called it. My father’s notebooks. It seemed likely Irial had written those meticulous botanical notes I’d looked at earlier, and executed the tiny, exquisite drawings that accompanied them. I glanced at the little book Anluan had left on the seat, wondering if he had been reading his father’s work. It was bound in fine calf leather, tooled with a pattern of leaves, but when I lifted the cover to peep inside, the writing I saw crawling across the creamy parchment was not the spidery script of the gardener’s notebooks, but Anluan’s irregular, labored hand. Someone gave a little cough. I shut the book hastily, not wanting to be caught prying. Muirne was standing about four paces from me, a cup in her hand. She had a disturbing ability to move about with scarcely a sound.

“Thank you,” I said, getting up to take the water from her. Her fingers were cold. “I’m much better now.”

“You saw something that scared you.” It was a statement, not a question. “A mirror?” When I nodded, she said, “There are many stories here. Many memories.This is not an easy place.”

“I’m beginning to realize that,” I said, glad that she was taking the time to speak to me, even if her manner was a little odd.“I suppose I’d better go; I know this is Lord Anluan’s private garden.Will someone call me when it’s suppertime?” I took a sip, then set the cup down on the bench.