“What should I write?” His jaw was clenched tight.There was a pink flush in his cheeks.
“Whatever you like.” I straightened up and moved back a step. My heart was thumping. That had felt altogether too pleasurable. “Keep practicing. Later you can try it on parchment.”
“That would be a waste of expensive materials.” He glanced at the sheet I had prepared for him, the new quill, the ink pot.
“Don’t tell me you never learned how to scrape down your parchment for reuse.”
“I know how. But—”
“I’ve given you a diluted ink.”
“All the same—”
“Please,” I said.
Out of the corner of my eye I saw his uneven mouth curve into a smile.“Very well,” he said.“I accept your challenge.” He applied himself to his work, but the smile hovered, softening his features.
Time passed. I translated a document in which Nechtan did nothing but rant about his neighbor, Maenach, and another in which he methodically listed the number of lambs, calves and piglets born on his home farm that spring.Then I spotted the name Aislinn.
A trying day.All Hallows draws close and time is short. Our preparations are almost in place. Aislinn came in with her apron full of goldenwood, which she had cut in the ritual manner required. No sooner had we begun the next stage when a hammering on the door disturbed our labors.
The dark mirror called me. I glanced at Anluan; he had set down the stylus and was trying ink and parchment, using the new quill to write from bottom to top along the lines I had scored for him. His hair fell forward, the deep red strands emphasising the pallor of his face.The blue eyes were intent on his work, and he was using his weak right hand to hold the parchment steady.The angle of the quill was good; not perfect, but good. I saw purpose and hope in every part of him, and for a moment it made my breath falter. What had I done here? How had I dared awaken something so fragile in this place of overwhelming sadness?
I turned Nechtan’s document face down without reading any further. I pushed it over to the far edge of my work table, beyond easy reach, then took up the next sheet of ancient parchment.
They have slain the cattle that were Whistling Tor’s livelihood. They have taken lives in the settlement and set fires.Why do they refuse to heed me beyond the border of the Tor? They should be obedient to my will. I revisit the procedure endlessly in my mind, but can find no fault in it.There was no error in the preparations, no omission, no deviation from the form of words. All was carried out exactly as required. But it is wrong. Unleashed, this is no powerful army but a wayward rabble. If I can command their obedience only while I remain on the Tor, I will be set apart from all the world.
And, further down the page, this:
Folk are saying that I am cursed. I will prove them wrong. I will learn how to harness this monster.
“But you didn’t,” I murmured, setting that leaf on top of the other. “You couldn’t.”
“What was that?” Anluan set his quill down and flexed the fingers of his writing hand.
“Nothing. May I look at your work?”
“Of course.You are the teacher.”
I did not insult him with exaggerated praise, though my heart lifted when I saw how well he had absorbed the lesson. As for the fact that he had chosen to practice his script by writing my name—it was on the page three times, each version slightly more regular—that set a warm glow in my heart quite out of proportion to its cause. “Does this feel easier?” I asked. “It’s much more pleasing to the eye.”
“It is better, yes, and my hand hurts less.”
There was something in his tone that made me look at him more closely, seeing what I had missed a moment ago: the smudges under his eyes, the pallor, the droop of the shoulders. “Good work,” I said, keeping my tone light. “That’s enough for now. Ideally, you’d write a page a day with this method, until it came to you without thinking.”
“I must go,” Anluan said abruptly, rising to his feet. “Since I’ve sent Magnus down the hill for the morning, I’ll need to help Olcan with some work on the farm.” He hesitated on the threshold, cloak over his arm.“You look astonished, Caitrin. Cripple as I am, I am not entirely incapable.” Before I could frame a reply, he was gone.
