touch of her arms around me, I burst into wrenching sobs. My mother held me close and made soothing, meaningless sounds. When the storm of grief had wrung itself out, I told her how it had happened. And I told her what I'd been doing when it happened, the decision I'd made and the aftermath, my voice dry and flat. She listened without comment.
"Now you feel yourself to blame," she said softly when I had finished.
"Aye," I whispered.
My mother tilted her head. Her eyes caught the firelight and reflected it like a wild animal's. For a moment, I saw her as others did, her features marked by the stamp of the Maghuin Dhonn, uncanny and inexplicably strange. And then it passed and she was only her familiar self.
"It was his time," she said in a gentle tone. "That is all." I opened my mouth to protest, but she shook her head at me. "You could not have saved him, Moirin mine. Not without altering the course of his fate. And what followed may have been worse."
"You can't know that," I said. "Not for sure."
"No," my mother said. "No one can. But if you had gone against the truth of your heart, any promise you made him would have turned to ashes."
We sat together in silence while the fire burned low. At length the sky began to lighten in the east, and here and there a bird twittered. My mother stirred herself and banked the fire's embers.
"We'll take a few hours' sleep," she said. "Time enough to pack and be away by nightfall."
I looked dully at her. "Where?"
"The rite's to be held in the north. We'll be leaving a little early, that's all."
"No." I swallowed. "I can't. I truly can't. Not now."
"You can." My mother gazed steadily at me. "Do you imagine your grief will abate sooner staying here ?"
I looked around at our tidy campsite. Cillian had taught me my letters on this very hearth, scrawling with a soot-blacked twig. Above us was the ledge where I'd first caught him spying with a satchel full of peaches. There was the willow tree beneath which I'd taught him to catch trout, its roots drinking deep of the stream. There was the path to the meadow in which we'd spent so many hours.
"No," I said. "I suppose not."
She nodded. "We'll be off by noon."
I didn't think I could possibly sleep, but I did, worn out by grief and guilt. When I awoke, the sun was high in the sky and I was wearier than everbut our meager belongings were packed and my mother was watching me.
"Eat." She handed me a cattail-flour cake. "You'll need your strength."
I didn't want to eat. I didn't want to undertake this journey. I wanted to roll myself in my blankets and go back to sleep. Mayhap if I slept long enough, I would wake to find that my memories had faded. I'd no longer have the vision of Cillian's dented skull vivid before my eyes, the touch of his cold lips lingering on mine.
"There is a glade hidden high in the mountains to the north," my mother said unexpectedly. "It holds a lake and a stone door. On the other side of that door, you may find the Maghuin Dhonn Herself. The door is waiting for you, Moirin. It has waited a year and more."
"You said yourself we'd be leaving early. Can it not wait a few days longer?" I asked plaintively.
"Mayhap. Will you take that chance?" She gestured around. "There is nothing to hold you here. Cillian is lost to you. Mayhap it is a sign. Will you risk losing your diadh-anam , too?"
It seemed a cruel threat, but the spark of awareness in my breast pulsed in sudden alarm. I made myself eat a portion of the cake although it was dry and crumbly in my mouth, washing it down with a great deal of water. When I was done, I felt a little bit stronger.
"All right." I got to my feet. "Let us go."
My mother pushed us hard on that first day. We passed from our own small kingdom of wilderness into deeper wilderness. It was hard going and I was already bone-weary from my long trek back from Innisclan. By the time she called a halt to make camp, my muscles were burning from the strain. I dropped my pack and fell asleep
"Now you feel yourself to blame," she said softly when I had finished.
"Aye," I whispered.
My mother tilted her head. Her eyes caught the firelight and reflected it like a wild animal's. For a moment, I saw her as others did, her features marked by the stamp of the Maghuin Dhonn, uncanny and inexplicably strange. And then it passed and she was only her familiar self.
"It was his time," she said in a gentle tone. "That is all." I opened my mouth to protest, but she shook her head at me. "You could not have saved him, Moirin mine. Not without altering the course of his fate. And what followed may have been worse."
"You can't know that," I said. "Not for sure."
"No," my mother said. "No one can. But if you had gone against the truth of your heart, any promise you made him would have turned to ashes."
We sat together in silence while the fire burned low. At length the sky began to lighten in the east, and here and there a bird twittered. My mother stirred herself and banked the fire's embers.
"We'll take a few hours' sleep," she said. "Time enough to pack and be away by nightfall."
I looked dully at her. "Where?"
"The rite's to be held in the north. We'll be leaving a little early, that's all."
"No." I swallowed. "I can't. I truly can't. Not now."
"You can." My mother gazed steadily at me. "Do you imagine your grief will abate sooner staying here ?"
I looked around at our tidy campsite. Cillian had taught me my letters on this very hearth, scrawling with a soot-blacked twig. Above us was the ledge where I'd first caught him spying with a satchel full of peaches. There was the willow tree beneath which I'd taught him to catch trout, its roots drinking deep of the stream. There was the path to the meadow in which we'd spent so many hours.
"No," I said. "I suppose not."
She nodded. "We'll be off by noon."
I didn't think I could possibly sleep, but I did, worn out by grief and guilt. When I awoke, the sun was high in the sky and I was wearier than everbut our meager belongings were packed and my mother was watching me.
"Eat." She handed me a cattail-flour cake. "You'll need your strength."
I didn't want to eat. I didn't want to undertake this journey. I wanted to roll myself in my blankets and go back to sleep. Mayhap if I slept long enough, I would wake to find that my memories had faded. I'd no longer have the vision of Cillian's dented skull vivid before my eyes, the touch of his cold lips lingering on mine.
"There is a glade hidden high in the mountains to the north," my mother said unexpectedly. "It holds a lake and a stone door. On the other side of that door, you may find the Maghuin Dhonn Herself. The door is waiting for you, Moirin. It has waited a year and more."
"You said yourself we'd be leaving early. Can it not wait a few days longer?" I asked plaintively.
"Mayhap. Will you take that chance?" She gestured around. "There is nothing to hold you here. Cillian is lost to you. Mayhap it is a sign. Will you risk losing your diadh-anam , too?"
It seemed a cruel threat, but the spark of awareness in my breast pulsed in sudden alarm. I made myself eat a portion of the cake although it was dry and crumbly in my mouth, washing it down with a great deal of water. When I was done, I felt a little bit stronger.
"All right." I got to my feet. "Let us go."
My mother pushed us hard on that first day. We passed from our own small kingdom of wilderness into deeper wilderness. It was hard going and I was already bone-weary from my long trek back from Innisclan. By the time she called a halt to make camp, my muscles were burning from the strain. I dropped my pack and fell asleep
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