Heart's Blood

“Slugs and marsh flies have their places in the great web of existence,” I said.“How should I answer, Anluan? As a devout Christian would, or as a person whose faith is, at best, shaky?”

“Answer honestly.”

“Very well.” My supper companions were all staring at me. “I do not view suicide as wicked, just terribly sad. There is only one death, but it is like a stone cast into a pond—the ripples stretch far. Such an act must leave a burden of sorrow, guilt, shame and confusion on an entire family.A natural death, such as my father suffered, is hard enough to deal with.A decision to end one’s life must be still more devastating for those left behind. I cannot imagine the degree of hopelessness someone must feel to contemplate such an act. Even in the darkest time, even when God was utterly silent, I never ... there was always something in my life, something I can’t even define for you, that stopped me from taking that step.The thought of such utter despair chills me. I hope that is honest enough for you.”

“Excuse me.” Anluan was on his feet and out the door almost before I had time to blink. His faithful shadow rose from the table and hastened after him.

Dismay must have been written all over my face. Magnus poured a cup of ale and set it in front of me, while Eichri wrapped his bony fingers around mine.

“I’ll have Muirne’s supper,” said Olcan.“Pass it up, Rioghan, will you?”

“If he didn’t want an honest answer he shouldn’t have asked for one,” I said, furious with myself for upsetting Anluan again, when he had been so open with me earlier.

The silence that followed was like the first ice of the season, brittle and dangerous.

“Anluan won’t tell you this,” Rioghan said, “but Irial died by his own hand. He used poison; we never found out exactly what kind. It must have been easy for him to concoct, since he was so knowledgeable about plants and their uses. Sixteen years ago, that was, and as clear in our minds as the day it happened. He was still alive when we found him out in the garden. It was . . .” He shivered. “It was bad. I’ll never forget his skin, all blue-gray like one huge bruise. His eyes went cloudy. Whatever it was that he took, it affected the lungs. He found it harder and harder to catch his breath. It seemed to me there was something he wanted to tell us, but his voice was gone.”

I could think of nothing to say. I probably should have guessed that this was the explanation for Irial’s outliving his beloved Emer by only two years.

“There’s more,” said Olcan. “On a dark day, long ago, I found Conan out in the woods with a very efficient stab wound to the heart and his hunting knife still in his hand. He may not have been the sort of fellow folk warmed to, but at least he waited until his son was a man. It’s a pattern those of us who are close to Anluan don’t much care for.”

Sixteen years. That meant Anluan was only five-and-twenty. “I’m sorry,” I said. “This must be distressing for all of you.”

“You’re one of us now,” Magnus said quietly.“It’s good that you know. We don’t like him upset, that’s true. But he did raise it, and he did ask you to be straight with him.That’s not a blunder, Caitrin, it’s two steps forwards. He’s trying hard. But you’ll have to go carefully. He bears a lot of scars.”

“I suppose Irial simply couldn’t go on without Emer. But it seems a terrible thing to do when his son was so young, only a child.” It had troubled me, reading his record of grief, that Irial had barely mentioned his boy. It was another reason not to draw the margin notes to Anluan’s attention.

Magnus sighed. “When she died, Irial’s whole world fell apart. He never got over the loss of her. Two years, he held on, but the world grew darker and darker for him. Not that I ever expected he’d act as he did. I thought he had the strength to endure it for Anluan’s sake. I’d give a lot to be able to turn time backwards. I’d like to talk to Irial, say all the things I should have found time to say while he was still here.”

“I should go and find Anluan,” I said, getting up. “I should apologize.”

“I wouldn’t.” Magnus’s gray eyes were somber.“Talk to him tomorrow, by daylight. He’s best alone tonight.”

“He’s not alone,” I pointed out. “He’s got Muirne.”

Perhaps there was something in my tone that revealed what I really thought about this: that Muirne’s presence was likely to make him more, rather than less, despondent.With Irial’s story fresh in my mind, and Conan’s, Anluan’s dark moods had begun to take on a troubling significance. I bitterly regretted upsetting him.

“Don’t much care for Muirne, do you?” Olcan asked with a smile.

“She doesn’t like my being here,” I said.“That makes it rather difficult to be friends. I understand a little better now that Anluan has told me more about the host. Muirne is devoted to him, that’s obvious. She thinks my presence will exhaust and weaken him, and perhaps there’s some truth in that. I suppose she fears that if he gets too tired, he may not be able to keep the host in check.”

“Take my advice,” Magnus said. “Give Anluan time to think this over. He respects your judgment, Caitrin. But it’s new to him, this talking openly about the past. He’s never dared hope for a different kind of future.”

“He did hire me.”

“True,” Eichri said,“though that may have been more act of desperation than act of hope. He thinks the world of you, Caitrin. Don’t doubt it, despite the way he snaps. But you’re an exotic creature to Anluan, a curiosity from a far-off land.You challenge him in more ways than you could imagine.”

I looked from one member of this inner circle to another. Their love for their chieftain shone in their words and on their faces.

“Very well,” I said. “I won’t trouble him tonight.” No doubt there would be a light burning in Anluan’s quarters, visible through the tangle of foliage in the courtyard as usual. I wondered if he wrote in his little book by lamplight or simply stared into the flame. Maybe, like Nechtan, he pursued branches of study that could not be carried out more openly. There were no grimoires in the library.That didn’t mean there were none in the house. I had been taking Irial’s notebooks to my bedchamber, a different one each evening. Anluan might have a whole private collection in his quarters. Might not such a collection include Nechtan’s books of magic?

I excused myself, lit my candle with a taper from the fire and went up to my bedchamber, wishing my mind had not traveled down this last path. Anluan had said he did not use sorcery to command the host, only a knack. I had