“I am.”
“Well, then. I shall pledge my services to you. Surely your father would find no harm in that.”
Pledge her services to me? I frowned. I didn’t even like her. In fact, until only moments ago, I was certain I despised her. But the buckets of water surrounding me had gone cool, and Ariane was right. I was a child at play in a healer’s workshop. We had a responsibility to the people. Isn’t that what Father always said? Surely he would not begrudge us a healer when one was so greatly needed.
Ariane waited, her blue eyes unwavering.
“All right. Yes.”
“Yes, you shall have me?”
“Yes.”
“Well, then. I have found a new home. Now, if you please. Go and see about the stew. And spirits. We’ll all have need of drink, I imagine, by the time this day is through.”
I made my way across the stable yard and through the courtyard into the kitchens, all the while wondering just who was now serving whom.
CHAPTER 5
* * *
Brant’s deep voice broke the silence. “They carry with them the darkness of war.”
We were gathered in the small chamber immediately beyond the Hall’s entryway, Lail, Brant, Brodyn, the hounds and I, having settled the great room for the newcomers. In the corner Crowan dozed in a fleece-lined chair, her little gray head wedged uncomfortably against the wall. Lail eyed her in the flickering lamplight.
“Shouldn’t we help her to bed?”
“I shouldn’t wake her if I were you,” I said.
Beyond our door the oil lamps had been snuffed out, and in the great room the firelight cast slanting shadows that wavered like specters in the dark. If we were quiet enough, we could hear the sounds of muttering and sleep talk, of chests rising and falling in a soft chorus of sighs.
“Aye, the darkness of war,” Brodyn agreed. He moved his spear-hardened fingers listlessly over one of the gaming pieces on the board that rested between him and my brother. Neither had any heart for playing. The rain had moved off toward the coast, and a deep black night crushed in around us. Two cauldrons of stew had been emptied, and we had gone through no fewer than three barrels of mead.
“How many are dead?” I asked.
My cousins exchanged a look.
“Tell her,” Lail said. “My sister is not an infant.”
“Of the thirty-five who discovered us, so far more than twenty have perished.” Brant’s voice betrayed little emotion.
“When do you think Father will return?” Lail wondered.
“Not for some time yet.” Brodyn grimaced, rubbing his neck. “We sent word, of course. But he’s needed now in the capital. And besides, all is well here now. No one is in danger.”
All did not seem well. I closed my eyes, wishing I could find the peace in it my cousins had. I knew that death was a part of life. Even in the cycle of the seasons, death reminded us of her presence. In the dark half of the year, when the crops shrank and withered to the ground and the sun rose late and sank too early, when the great oaks in the forest bowed their branches and dropped their burning leaves, casting a chill in our bones not easily warmed by fire. We were raised celebrating the coming of the light at the winter festival Imbolc. And at autumn’s end, on Samhain, we gathered to usher in the coming darkness at the end of the harvest. Our Wisdom Keepers taught of everlasting life, while my father’s warriors rode off to battle only to return draped over their horses’ backs, their lifeless bodies wrapped in blood-soaked cloaks.
When my mother died, I thought, So this is how it happens.
You burn young and bright. Death comes to steal your breath, your eyes go sightless, and you are snuffed out, a candle burned to its wick. They tell those who loved you, This is the way of the Gods.
I thought of Desdemona, and what dangers might have befallen her mother in the thick of the Caledonian Wood.
“Will more survivors come?” I wondered.
“No, little cousin. I fear no more will come if they’ve not made it by now.” Brant’s voice trailed off and I followed his gaze. Ariane had appeared. She didn’t look at any of us, just unfastened her blue cloak, tossing it on the iron hook by the door.
Brodyn looked up from his gaming, his eyes sweeping over her. “Hey-ho. You’re the healer.”
She looked at him, her blue eyes expressionless over her angular cheeks.
“You did fine work today,” he went on.
Ariane did not answer, only lifted the slender amphora of wine that sat on the cracked wooden table and poured herself a brimming cup. We watched as she tilted her head back and drained it, filling another before sitting and leaning her head against the wall. Her lashes fluttered against her cheeks as she closed her eyes.
“Her name is Ariane,” I said.
Brodyn looked at her approvingly. “I like how she drinks.”
Brant shot his younger brother a look, and a soft snore rattled from Crowan in the corner. Lailoken set down his gaming piece, clearing his throat.
“We are fortunate you arrived today, Ariane. Thank you for aiding us.”
At the sound of my brother’s voice, Ariane opened one eye to regard him. “Then you’ll feel fortunate I’ve decided to stay, Lailoken.”
“So you’ll answer the boy, is that it?” Brodyn asked.
“Him, I like,” Ariane said.
Brant smiled, but leaned back in his chair beside the oil lamp, considering her. “You are most welcome to Cadzow, Ariane. But you must understand that, you being a stranger, we are curious to know what’s brought you here. They say the Angles have blazed a trail of fire from the east. How is it that you alone seem to have escaped any injury?”
I could tell by the way Brant watched her that he thought her quite pretty, but he wouldn’t be lured from his wits by a pretty face.
“I do not come from the east; I come from the north,” Ariane said, her eyes yet closed. “I happened upon these people on the road.”
“Traveling alone, were you?” Brant asked, but beneath his friendly tone I heard the warrior’s edge.
“She is a Wisdom Keeper.” I surprised myself by defending her. I didn’t even like her. Did I?
Brodyn spoke up. “If she is a Wisdom Keeper, then where are her robes?”
Ariane opened her eyes to regard him frankly. “I wear no robes.”
“How unusual.” Brodyn leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees. “No robes. And you must know the penalty among the Britons for impersonating a Keeper?”
I stiffened in my chair, looking between the two of them. Death. The penalty was death.
Ariane stretched and stood, reaching to refill her cup. “Are you prepared, then, to question me, warrior? For only a Keeper may question a Keeper. Are you a Keeper, then? Do you know the words we must say?” She turned, her eyes lit with humor. “I am certain you know the penalty for impersonating a Keeper.”
Brodyn laughed. “I like her more and more! So we shall wait until Cathan returns, eh? We shall see what he has to say.”
“Leave her.” Brant stood and pushed back his chair. “The woman has had a long day. As have we all.”
The hounds roused, too, shaking the sleep from their shaggy gray fur to follow the man they liked best after my father. I wondered if Ariane noticed Brant’s muscled chest beneath his tunic as he stretched, straightening his shoulders. The village girls certainly did. Ariane looked away. From his seat at the gaming table, Brodyn rolled his eyes at his brother’s display.