“You say you brought them into the light of day . . . but I don’t understand why you’ve waited so long to show me. I could have been working on them all this time. I might have found something by now, something that would help us.” I swallowed, struggling for calm. “I mean, help you and everyone at Whistling Tor. I know that I am only —I mean—” It wasn’t possible to go on. In the silence that followed, I lifted the top book from the pile and placed it on the desk before me. A malign, grimacing face had been worked on the dark leather of the cover. I left the book closed.
Anluan was looking down at the floor. A flush had appeared on his wan cheeks. “I don’t know how to say this,” he murmured. “I fear I will offend you.”
“Say it, please.”
“What made me bring the grimoires out in the first place also made me reluctant to share them.Your coming here has changed everything, Caitrin. You have opened my mind to possibilities beyond any I had dreamed of. So I fetched the books. I knew you could translate them, but . . . Caitrin, the idea of any action of mine causing you hurt is . . . it’s unbearable.You are . . . you’re like a beating heart. A glowing lamp. I’ve never met anyone like you before.”
The words fell into my heart like drops of healing balm. My whole body warmed. Despite everything, I was filled with happiness.“Nor I you,” I whispered, clasping my hands together lest I do something foolish like jump up and throw my arms around him. His tall form was tense, his features grim; there was more to come.
“I couldn’t expose you to these books.They are harmful. Nechtan left his descendants a dark legacy. The key to ending this may well lie in the use of sorcery. I can’t ask you to deal with that. The obsidian mirror dis tresses you; I saw the look on your face today.”
“But—”
“I do know a few words of Latin. My father had begun to teach me. I hoped my scant knowledge of the language would be sufficient for me to recognize the spell if it were within these covers. I’ve been working on the grimoires since Magnus brought back the bad news about Stephen de Courcy. I’ve worked long hours, as you have; your candle has burned late into the night. I’ve watched you growing thinner and paler, Caitrin, and it troubles me deeply.”
A silence.
“But you haven’t found a counterspell,” I said eventually. “And nor have I. And we only have a few days left. Let me borrow these, Anluan. I can work on them in the library.”
“You look exhausted. I have wondered if you should be here at all, with this new threat. If you’re harmed I will never forgive myself.”
My heart skipped a beat. “I want to stay,” I said. The compulsion to reach out and touch him was more powerful with every breath. I wrapped my arms around myself.“Please let me work on these books. I gave an undertaking to the host. Maybe that was foolish. Maybe I overreached myself. But I want to do the best I can.”
“I don’t understand why you would want to stay. I have nothing to offer you, Caitrin. Nothing but shadows and secrets.”
“That isn’t true,Anluan.” My voice was not quite steady.“You’ve given me a home, and friendship, and work that I love.You’ve given me . . .”
He drew a deep breath and released it, then moved to sit on the edge of the bed.“You understand, I imagine, where my dilemma lies,” he said.“I have no skills whatever as a leader of fighting men. I have no experience in councils and strategies. If I defy the Normans I risk not only your safety, but also that of Magnus, oldest and most stalwart of friends, and Olcan, who should stand outside all this. I risk all who dwell on the hill. Yes, I include the host—it came to me, that day when you offered them your apology, that they are as much my people as the folk of the settlements are. I may not hold them dear, but I am responsible for their wellbeing. A two-edged sword, since they present the immediate risk, but may also prove the long-term solution if this comes to war.To go ahead with this will require a great deal of faith. It will require the quality you taught me, Caitrin.” He gave his lopsided smile, twisting my heart. “The quality of persistent hope, hope against the odds. Magnus believes it’s time to make a stand. Rioghan agrees that we should act. In their opinion, we must do so or perish. And yet . . .Caitrin, there’s no trusting the host. One cannot disregard so many years of violence, so many acts of barbarism here on the hill. Nechtan’s shadow still hangs heavy over this place.”
“I have a theory,” I said.“Eichri and I were talking about the mirrors in this house and what each of them could do. He said perhaps artifacts like those are not good or bad in their own right, but work according to the character of the person who is using them. Mightn’t the same theory be applied to the host? All accounts tell us Nechtan was a deeply flawed man, a man with no sense of right and wrong, obsessed by the need for power, cruel to his family, deluded in that he believed everyone was against him. As I understand it, the host is tied to the chieftain of Whistling Tor, whoever that is at any time. Its members are obedient to his will, at least while he remains on the hill.”
“That is true, Caitrin.”
“In the vision I saw today, Nechtan was going to let his wife leave. He was tired of Mella; he didn’t want her at Whistling Tor any longer. I know this because the obsidian mirror doesn’t only show the vision, it draws me into Nechtan’s thoughts.”The memory of it was in my bones, like the deepest frost of winter. “But Mella made a mistake. She told her husband that Maenach was prepared to take her in; she implied that she had made an escape plan with his arch rival, the man he blamed for all his woes. I felt the change in him, Anluan. There was a boiling, uncontrollable surge of anger, then the command to the host, issued in a moment when all reason was swept away.
“I wish you had not seen that.”
“I hope I never have to witness such a sight again. But I learned something. If Nechtan had not suddenly lost his temper, if Mella had not mentioned Maenach, she would have left the hill, gone to her family and lived the rest of her life in peace. It was not an innate evil in the host that caused her to die so cruelly. All they did was obey Nechtan’s order. They had to; they were bound to his will.
“Conan was brought up by Nechtan from an early age. As chieftain he made grievous errors, certainly. Like Nechtan, he tried to make use of the host for war. He neglected his lands and his people as his father had done. But he was not Nechtan all over again. What about his wife and son? We know from Conan’s writings that Lioch was concerned about the welfare of the community in time of flood; we know that her husband did make some attempts to help them, though the people’s fear of the host made those efforts fruitless. I cannot believe that Irial grew up without love and care; he was such a loving man himself. Anluan, how and when did your grandmother die?” I prayed that he would not tell me that Lioch, too, had been slain by the host. My theory was fragile already; that
