they?” Feeling the pressure of four men’s eyes on me, I added,“It’s just that when I was first coming up the hill, when Olcan and Fianchu found me, I’d been hearing strange voices, voices that made me lose my way. And I’m sure I felt . . . hands. Down in the village, people were talking about a curse, about fearsome beings on the hill. If I’m to stay here, I would be happier if I knew exactly what these things are.” Or maybe not, I thought as soon as I had spoken. If the vision in Nechtan’s obsidian mirror was any indication of what I could expect at Whistling Tor, perhaps blissful ignorance was preferable.
The four men looked at one another. Each of them seemed to be waiting for someone else to answer.
“In that mirror earlier,” I said, trying not to see it again, “a man called Nechtan, Anluan’s ancestor, was talking about an . . . army. He was preparing an experiment, and hoping the result would make him powerful.That could have been about a hundred years ago, by my calculations. The folk in the village said the whole place had been under a curse for a hundred years. I thought . . . well, I suppose it is none of my business, but I do have to read the family documents, so . . . does the curse date from Nechtan’s time? Is it something to do with those whispering voices and creeping hands? These others you mention, the ones who live out there?” I could not believe I was asking such questions. The old Caitrin, the confident, serene one, would not have hesitated; she would have sought out whatever information she needed to do a good job. I lifted my chin. I could be that woman again if I tried.
Olcan had his elbow on the table, his mossy head resting on one hand. “Big story, Caitrin,” he said. “All you need to know is, the Tor’s old. It’s older than the memory of any ordinary man, older than the most ancient story that was ever told around the fire at suppertime. A hundred years is just an eye-blink to this place.There’s a lot of memory in these walls; there’s a lot of power in these stones.Yes, there are one or two folk living out in the woods who are not quite your usual man-at-arms or kitchen maid. Some of them you’ll see, some you’ll hear, some may pass you by without being noticed at all.You shouldn’t be afraid.”
“Folk,” I managed. There were goose bumps all over my body. “What sort of . . . folk?”
“All sorts, Caitrin,” said Magnus calmly. “Nothing to worry about. You’re on the Tor as Anluan’s invited guest. While you’re here, Anluan keeps you safe. Nobody and nothing can touch you.”
It was not a restful night. The bedding I had been given failed to keep out the chill, and when I did manage to drift off into sleep, Nechtan tangled with Cillian in my dreams, jolting me awake with my heart pounding and my body drenched in nervous sweat.When I could bear it no longer I got up, slid back the newly installed bolt on my door, and went out to the gallery that edged the upstairs rooms. I stood with my bare feet in the litter of leaves and twigs and gazed out over the gentle chaos of the garden, the trees and bushes illuminated by the cloud-veiled moon to shades of uncertain blue and gray. By the pond, a figure in a red cloak paced to and fro, to and fro. It was true, then: there was an all-night sentry on duty. I watched him awhile, and at one point he looked up and raised a pale hand in greeting.The cold forced me back to bed, where I tossed and turned until morning.
As soon as it was light I made my way down to the kitchen, where Magnus already had the fire burning and water heating.
“We don’t gather for breakfast,” the steward said.“If you want water to wash, you’ll have to wait. I can’t spare the time to pump it.”
“I’ll do it myself,” I said, hoping this did not break any rules.
He spared me a glance. It was not unfriendly. “Good for you. The pump’s out the back door in the yard. Take that bucket there, it’s
The four men looked at one another. Each of them seemed to be waiting for someone else to answer.
“In that mirror earlier,” I said, trying not to see it again, “a man called Nechtan, Anluan’s ancestor, was talking about an . . . army. He was preparing an experiment, and hoping the result would make him powerful.That could have been about a hundred years ago, by my calculations. The folk in the village said the whole place had been under a curse for a hundred years. I thought . . . well, I suppose it is none of my business, but I do have to read the family documents, so . . . does the curse date from Nechtan’s time? Is it something to do with those whispering voices and creeping hands? These others you mention, the ones who live out there?” I could not believe I was asking such questions. The old Caitrin, the confident, serene one, would not have hesitated; she would have sought out whatever information she needed to do a good job. I lifted my chin. I could be that woman again if I tried.
Olcan had his elbow on the table, his mossy head resting on one hand. “Big story, Caitrin,” he said. “All you need to know is, the Tor’s old. It’s older than the memory of any ordinary man, older than the most ancient story that was ever told around the fire at suppertime. A hundred years is just an eye-blink to this place.There’s a lot of memory in these walls; there’s a lot of power in these stones.Yes, there are one or two folk living out in the woods who are not quite your usual man-at-arms or kitchen maid. Some of them you’ll see, some you’ll hear, some may pass you by without being noticed at all.You shouldn’t be afraid.”
“Folk,” I managed. There were goose bumps all over my body. “What sort of . . . folk?”
“All sorts, Caitrin,” said Magnus calmly. “Nothing to worry about. You’re on the Tor as Anluan’s invited guest. While you’re here, Anluan keeps you safe. Nobody and nothing can touch you.”
It was not a restful night. The bedding I had been given failed to keep out the chill, and when I did manage to drift off into sleep, Nechtan tangled with Cillian in my dreams, jolting me awake with my heart pounding and my body drenched in nervous sweat.When I could bear it no longer I got up, slid back the newly installed bolt on my door, and went out to the gallery that edged the upstairs rooms. I stood with my bare feet in the litter of leaves and twigs and gazed out over the gentle chaos of the garden, the trees and bushes illuminated by the cloud-veiled moon to shades of uncertain blue and gray. By the pond, a figure in a red cloak paced to and fro, to and fro. It was true, then: there was an all-night sentry on duty. I watched him awhile, and at one point he looked up and raised a pale hand in greeting.The cold forced me back to bed, where I tossed and turned until morning.
As soon as it was light I made my way down to the kitchen, where Magnus already had the fire burning and water heating.
“We don’t gather for breakfast,” the steward said.“If you want water to wash, you’ll have to wait. I can’t spare the time to pump it.”
“I’ll do it myself,” I said, hoping this did not break any rules.
He spared me a glance. It was not unfriendly. “Good for you. The pump’s out the back door in the yard. Take that bucket there, it’s
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