The wise woman passed the jug into my hands, carefully. It was so hot I almost dropped it. Orna snatched a cleaning cloth from a peg and helped me wrap it around the jug. “By the time we reach the tower,” she said, “it will be cool enough for him to drink.”
Sionnach had fetched a clean cup. We walked out of the house and across the courtyard, and as we passed the song dwindled and faltered and ceased. Eyes were on us from all around, the stricken eyes of those who still battled the enemy that sought to poison their thoughts; the frightened eyes of ordinary folk whose world had changed forever. I wanted to run, to fly, to be at Anluan’s side this moment, but I held the jug, his salvation within, and I walked as if on eggshells, step by careful step.
At the entry to the south tower, Gearróg stood strong, though I saw the tension in his body and the strain of resistance on his face.The frenzy tried him hard, as before. He was muttering to himself, and as I passed him I heard him say: “God, don’t let Lord Anluan die. They say you’ll listen to a sinner’s prayer. Hear mine tonight, will you? We’re all in the balance here.”
Then I was in the chamber and by Anluan’s bedside. He lay in Olcan’s steady arms, his mouth slightly open, his lids closed, his breath whistling like the wind in reeds. Alive; by all the saints, still alive. My hands were shaking so hard I could not pour the infusion from jug to cup, so Orna did it for me, but I was the one who held the vessel to his lips.
“Anluan,” I said with tears running down my cheeks,“you must drink this. Just a sip is enough to start with. Anluan, please try.” It was plain that he could not hear me.The precious draft would spill from his unconscious mouth to soak into the blankets and be lost.
“Dip the cloth.”The calm voice was that of the wise woman.“Squeeze a little into his mouth. Feed him as you would a motherless babe.”
I soaked up a little of the infusion in the cloth she had given me; brought it carefully up. To waste even a drop might be to lose this battle. Olcan tipped Anluan’s head back slightly and I squeezed the tea into his mouth.
He swallowed. I released the breath I had been holding and dipped the cloth again. And again.The chamber was so still I thought I could hear my heart beating. Another few drops; Anluan’s eyelids flickered. He gasped for air, tensed, turned his head.
“Use the cup now,” said the wise woman. “He’ll soon come back to full awareness. Go slowly.”
“Drink, dear one,” I said, laying one hand on Anluan’s neck and tilting the cup against his lips.
He drank; stopped to suck in air; drank again, thirstily. His eyes opened, blue as the sky on the loveliest day of summer and utterly confused. “What . . .” he managed, then ran out of breath.
“Hush, don’t try to talk.” I set down the empty cup, turning my head away so he would not see the tears pouring down my cheeks.“It’s all right, you’re all right now.Take your time.”
“Caitrin—Olcan—what—?”Anluan turned his head one way and the other; he put a hand to his brow, tried to sit up, collapsed back against Olcan’s supporting arm. “What happened to me? Did I dream . . .” A silence, then I felt his hand brush against me where I sat bent over on the edge of the bed. “Caitrin, you’re crying. What . . . what is this?” His voice was a little stronger, and when I turned to look, there was a slight flush of color in his wan cheeks.
“Who’d have imagined it?” said Orna. “Heart’s blood.Thought it was only good for rich folk’s ink. My lord,” she was suddenly shy, her tone diffident, “you’ve been terribly sick. Near death. Caitrin brought you back.”
“Sick?” Anluan frowned, his eyes moving over the empty cup in my hand and the empty jug the wise woman was holding.“But . . .” He cleared his throat. “I dreamed . . . Caitrin, are you really here?”
“Yes,” I said, a blush rising to my face.
“That was real . . . you and I . . .”
The blush deepened; my cheeks were on fire. “It was,” I said. “And so am I. Anluan, you must lie down and rest; you’ve been very ill.”
“No . . .” He was trying to sit up again, his breathing labored. “No, there’s no time for this . . . I must . . . God, I can’t catch my breath . . . Tell me what happened . . .”
I explained it as calmly as I could, while he worked on his breathing, and Olcan supported him until at last he could manage to sit on his own. I said nothing of Muirne, only told him about the poison, and that it was the same one that had killed his father. I explained that we had found the antidote, but not where. I did not speak of the little hoard of trophies I had found.
“Poison,” Anluan said, his tone flat. “Now, on the brink of the battle, poison . . .”
