Dreamer's Pool by Juliet Marillier
‘Thank you, Donagan.’ Ciar was nervous now; when I offered her the support of my arm, I could feel her trembling. ‘All right, my dear?’ I wondered at my own capacity for deception.
‘Mm. Only, being here brings back that day. When Ciar was drowned. This is a strange place.’ And, after a moment, ‘We don’t need to go down there, do we? Where they brought her out of the water?’
‘No, my lady,’ said Donagan. ‘There’s a much better place up on the other side of the pool. It’s sheltered and grassy. Let me show you.’
It was dusk, and as we climbed the path the full moon appeared beyond the network of bare branches, casting a cool light upon us. An owl gave a sudden eerie call, disturbing the quiet of the wood. From further off, another answered.
‘This place scares me,’ said Ciar.
‘My lady,’ put in Mhairi, who had been unusually quiet, ‘you need not do this now, tonight.’
Ciar turned on her. ‘Don’t think to tell me what I should or should not do! Why would I come all the way out here only to lose my courage and go running off home again? Keep your opinions to yourself!’
‘Through here,’ Donagan said, parting some foliage to show a narrow pathway. Ahead lay the place Blackthorn had chosen, a soft patch of greensward amid the proliferation of ferny undergrowth. ‘I will lay my cloak down here’ – he did so – ‘and, my lady, you might wish to pass your own cloak to Mhairi. And we will leave you in peace awhile.’
The moment was here; the wood seemed to tremble. Ciar and I stood side by side on the sward. The others had retreated to the path. Night was descending fast; the moonlight on Ciar’s perfect features – Flidais’s features – turned her to a silver goddess.
‘Ciar!’ said someone softly from behind her.
‘What?’ Ciar turned, then sucked in her breath; she had just given herself away.
Blackthorn stepped forward from the shadows, sombre-faced. She was clad in a voluminous woollen cloak. She put me in mind of some old goddess of the wood, come to deliver judgement.
‘What are you doing here?’ Ciar’s tone was shrill. I put my hand on her shoulder and she started, looking up at me. ‘Oran, what is this?’
‘We know the truth about you,’ I said. ‘That you are Flidais in outward appearance only; that when you went swimming in Dreamer’s Pool that day, you were somehow changed. Your response when Mistress Blackthorn called your name is proof in itself.’
‘What can you mean? That’s nonsense! It’s ridiculous!’ Then, to Blackthorn, ‘I never trusted you! I knew you were up to something! I knew it the moment you and your big oaf came to live in the house! You’ve lied to me, haven’t you? That story about the wood and what it could do for me, you made it all up just to get me here! But why? Why?’
Over on the path, Mhairi burst into tears. ‘Ciar, just tell them the truth! This has gone on too long. Please put a stop to it.’
‘You accuse me of lying, Ciar,’ said Blackthorn with commendable calm. ‘And yes, I did tell a story to bring you here tonight. But you have spun a mighty web of lies. It’s time to start telling the truth, as Mhairi so wisely advises. Much of it we’ve guessed already. And I imagine that if you are not prepared to tell us the rest, your maidservant will do it for you.’
‘This is rubbish! What do you think this is, some fairytale?’ Ciar tried to wrench away from my hold, intending I knew not what – it would hardly do her any good to run. ‘Let go of me! It’s not true!’
‘Then tell us what is true,’ I said. ‘Perhaps Mistress Blackthorn has it wrong. If that is so, you should have no trouble agreeing to put it to the test.’
‘Put . . . what do you mean?’
‘There’s an old story about Dreamer’s Pool,’ Blackthorn said. ‘I heard it from the travelling folk not long ago.’ She told the tale she’d shared with me when first telling me of her plan, a story about a pair of brothers and a prize boar. ‘So, you see, we know how to reverse the charm,’ she added at the end. ‘It should be easy.’
‘No! You can’t do that!’ Ciar was struggling now; I had her by both arms, but fear can give a person strength, and I was hard put to hold her.
‘Let me, my lord.’ Here was Grim, walking in from the other side, closing his great arms around Ciar. Perhaps realising how futile it would be to fight against such a giant, she became still, save for her hard breathing.
‘Tell us your story, Ciar.’ Blackthorn’s tone was level, but the look on her face would have struck fear into anyone. ‘Do as Mhairi suggested; she, at least, has the wisdom to know this pretence can go on no longer. If the prince himself knows you are not Flidais, then how can you continue with it?’ After a moment she added, ‘It must have been frightening for you, that day. It must have seemed impossible, unbelievable. And yet there you were.’
‘You can’t prove anything,’ Ciar snapped. ‘Try telling that story and folk would only laugh at you. Look at me, I AM Lady Flidais! Nobody would believe you!’
Donagan and Mhairi had moved in closer. All of us were on the sward, above the waters of Dreamer’s Pool. If Ciar was strung tight, so was I. I could hardly believe we would go ahead with what Blackthorn had planned. It felt something akin to committing murder. Even as the longing to have my Flidais back filled my heart, the knowledge of what must come lay like a cold stone in my belly.
‘We don’t plan to tell the story,’ Blackthorn said calmly. ‘If we do as the man in the tale did, with his brother and the boar, there will be no need for anyone else to know.’
‘You can’t make Ciar go into the pool again.’ Mhairi’s voice was hushed with horror. ‘It’s not like the man and the boar. Flidais is dead, drowned. There’s no changing back.’
I made to speak, but Blackthorn gave a little shake of her head.
‘We have a plan,’ she said. ‘But we want Ciar’s story first. Whatever happens, whatever we do, it should be based on truth. There’s a powerful magic here. Only a fool mixes lies and magic. Ciar, tell us. What happened that day?’
Ciar stared at Blackthorn, her chest heaving, her eyes wild. She said not a word.
‘Mhairi, why don’t you tell us?’ Blackthorn asked after a little pause.
‘After the drowning,’ Mhairi said in a wisp of a voice, ‘she told me –’
‘No!’ Ciar’s voice was like the crack of a whip. ‘I forbid you to speak! Have you forgotten what I said?’
A silence, then.
‘No,’ said Mhairi, lifting her chin and straightening her shoulders. ‘But I’m not covering up for you any longer. After I’d helped you for so long, ever since you told me on that first night what had happened to you, when I said Mistress Blackthorn was sure to work out the truth soon, even if Prince Oran didn’t, you said you’d send me straight back to Cloud Hill in disgrace if I didn’t do what you wanted. You said you’d tell everyone I’d stolen your silver bracelet – the one Lady Flidais’s mother gave her when she left home. You said you’d make sure nobody would ever give me a position again.’
Another silence; a telling one.
‘I was scared,’ said Ciar. She did not look at me, or at Mhairi, or at Blackthorn, but fixed her gaze on the middle distance, and I wondered if she was seeing that day unfold in all its shocking truth. ‘Scared by what happened to me. Scared to tell, because nobody would have believed me. I thought I could do it. I thought I could be Lady Flidais; I’d spent a whole year with her, listening as she prattled on, watching as she played with wretched Bramble or admired wildflowers or fussed over her letters and her books. What was I supposed to do that day, when I hardly knew myself what had happened? I came out of the water, and there was my own body lying on the shore, drowned. I thought I was dreaming. I thought I’d wake up any moment. But I didn’t. What I did – it felt like the only choice.’
‘Black Crow save us,’ muttered Grim.
‘So you took your mistress’s place,’ B
‘I could have done it,’ Ciar said, looking up. Now there was a hint of defiance in her voice. ‘I may not be a chieftain’s daughter, but anyone can run a household and bear children. And I know how to please a man in bed, most likely better than Flidais ever would have.’ She fixed me with her gaze. ‘Prince Oran can attest to that; he wasn’t exactly reluctant.’
‘That’s enough!’ snapped Donagan. ‘You’ll speak to the prince with due respect!’
‘You!’ retorted Ciar. ‘If you’re so shocked, why did you turn a blind eye to it? You must have known.’
‘Enough,’ said Blackthorn. ‘I don’t suppose anyone’s behaviour has been entirely beyond reproach; that’s for each of you to come to terms with. Just now we are only concerned with you, Ciar. Why did you lie to me about Prince Oran and what he had done to you? Why did you accuse him of rape, or something close to it?’
Ciar scowled. ‘You were always there, asking questions, looking at everything, writing in your wretched little book. I was sure you’d find out, if you didn’t already know. I guessed he – the prince – had asked you to snoop. I’d have had to be blind not to realise he’d started to suspect me. And poxy Bramble didn’t help. That dog took against me from the moment I came out of the pool. I talked to Mhairi about the best way to put you off the scent. We’d heard you at the council, seen how angry you were about that girl, what was her name? And you’d spoken out in the sewing room about men having too much power over women and not being properly answerable for what they did. If you believed Prince Oran had abused me, then you wouldn’t want to help him anymore. That was what we thought.’
‘I’m sorry, my lord.’ Mhairi was weeping again. ‘I didn’t want to, but . . .’
‘But she threatened you,’ Blackthorn said. ‘It can be hard to find the courage to stand up for what you know is right. You’ve done it now, at least. A bit late, maybe. But not too late.’
‘Too late for what?’ asked Ciar. ‘I’m not going back in that water. If that was Flidais in my body, she’s dead. There’s nobody for me to change back into. You can’t do this. It would be murder.’ The terror was back in her voice; she looked from one of us to another, her face white in the moonlight. Grim shifted his grip.
‘You know,’ said Blackthorn, ‘I don’t believe it would be. If this concerned only yourself and Lady Flidais, maybe. But there weren’t only two who went into Dreamer’s Pool that day. There were three.’ She pushed back her concealing cloak and there, in her arms, was Bramble.
Ciar stared, not understanding. Mhairi was quicker. ‘You mean – are you saying Lady Flidais has been alive all this time? That she’s in Bramble’s body?’
‘So I believe. And so Prince Oran believes. If we are right, a terrible injustice has been done, and there is only one way to fix it.’
Ciar let fly a stream of curses. She was fighting against Grim’s hold.
‘It seems hard,’ said Blackthorn. ‘It is hard. But we cannot leave things as they are. Lady Flidais is the innocent in all this; she is entirely without blame. If I’m wrong, then both you, Ciar, and the dog will emerge from the pool unchanged, if a little cold, and it will be up to the prince to decide what comes next. If I’m right, then . . .’
‘No!’ shrieked Ciar. ‘No! That can’t be Flidais, it’s only a dog!’
‘Then you have nothing to fear,’ said Blackthorn.
‘You can’t do this!’
‘Just watch us,’ said Blackthorn, her voice like iron. She stepped toward the drop, and my heart quailed. The water was so cold, and Bramble was so small.
‘Now, Grim,’ said Blackthorn.
He picked up the struggling Ciar as if she weighed no more than a babe, walked to the edge and, without a moment’s hesitation, cast her bodily over. There was a splash, and my heart clenched in shock. This was real. We were actually doing it. I, the prince of Dalriada, was here in the woods in the dark, a willing party to what might be an act of murder.
‘Oh gods, oh gods!’ muttered Mhairi.
And now Bramble, so tiny, so delicate, so trusting. I wanted this with all my heart, and yet I could not bear to see Blackthorn cast her in.
‘Don’t –’ I began.
Bramble wriggled, twisted, half-fell from Blackthorn’s arms. Like a streak of moonlight, she bolted toward the drop, leaped off and was gone.
‘Morrigan’s curse!’ murmured Donagan.
I strode toward the edge. Strong hands gripped my arms, holding me back – Donagan on one side, Grim on the other. I teetered on the brink, staring down as the cold light revealed only widening ripples on the dark water.
‘Down to the shore,’ said Blackthorn. For the first time, her voice was less than perfectly steady. ‘Quickly.’
We ran, tripping over tree roots and sliding on the carpet of damp leaves in the deceptive light. We ran all the way to the place where the waters of Dreamer’s Pool lapped a flat stretch of shore, the spot where someone had lain dead on the fateful day when Flidais first came to Winterfalls. We stood there, Blackthorn and Grim, Donagan, Mhairi and I, staring out over the water, waiting. Perhaps she cannot swim, I thought. Perhaps Bramble cannot swim. But I did not say it. None of us spoke a word.
Time passed. Too much time. Donagan moved to the water’s edge and started to take off his boots.
‘No,’ I said. ‘If anyone’s going in, it should be me.’
‘Wait,’ said Blackthorn. ‘All of you wait.’
Out in the dark water, something stirred. Ripples spread out, catching the moonlight. She rose, spluttering and gasping, her dark hair like a mermaid’s over her shoulders, her eyes huge and shocked in her deathly white face. She struggled a moment, hampered by her long gown, then struck out toward the shore. There was no knowing, yet, which woman had emerged from the pool.
Another disturbance, another head coming up, this time Bramble’s. She swam as a dog swims, untidily, following her mistress in. Without any awareness of having moved, I was at the water’s edge. The woman waded to the shallows, shuddering with cold. Her gown clung to her, revealing plainly the lovely form beneath. The body I had enjoyed for two long nights in that time of utter madness. I felt my face grow hot.
The woman halted in knee-deep water, staring at me. She moved her hands to cover herself, one across her breasts, the other lower down. It was Flidais. Without a doubt, it was my lady.
‘Prince Oran.’ Blackthorn put something in my hands. A cloak. Flidais’s fur-lined cloak. As my beloved stepped up toward me, I reached to put it around her shoulders.
‘Oran,’ said Flidais through chattering teeth, and it was the loveliest sound I had ever heard. ‘My love, my dear, I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry you have had to go through this.’ She reached up a hand to brush my cheek. ‘Don’t weep, beloved.’ She was crying too; tears flooded down her perfect face. ‘It’s all my fault,’ she said. ‘If I had not taken it into my head to swim that day . . .’
‘Morrigan’s britches!’ murmured Grim. ‘Who’d have thought it?’
Bramble was crouched on the shore, wet through and shivering. Donagan attempted to pick her up, then cursed as she sank her teeth into his hand.
‘I’ll take her,’ Blackthorn said. ‘She knows better than to bite me. Now, it’s freezing cold, and Lady Flidais needs to get warm straight away. You’d best come to our cottage, sit by the fire awhile, and have some food and drink before you go back to Winterfalls.’ She glanced at Mhairi. ‘You’ll all have some matters to consider.’
‘Thank you, Mistress Blackthorn.’ Wrapped in the cloak, sheltered by my arm, Flidais sounded steadier now. ?
‘We will return here, my love,’ I said. ‘Say prayers. Make offerings.’
‘But not tonight,’ said Blackthorn, ‘or Lady Flidais risks perishing from cold, not to speak of this dog. The spirit won’t require that, I’m quite sure of it. Let’s go and find that warm fire, and perhaps a jug of mulled ale.’ She bent to gather up Bramble. ‘Try to bite me,’ she said, ‘and I’ll set a curse on you. Fancy life as a slug or a beetle? I thought not. Grim, lead the way.’
40
~GRIM~
They talk and talk. I make a brew and another brew, and keep the fire burning high. Blackthorn takes Lady Flidais to the lean-to to remove her wet clothes, and the lady sits by the hearth with my blanket wrapped around her, over the prince’s cloak. Her and Prince Oran, they’ve only got eyes for each other, though they thank us, and they thank Donagan, and they listen while Mhairi fills in some parts of the story that haven’t come out yet. For instance, how Ciar had thought that if she was with child, the prince would still wed her even if he found out the truth. How she’d slipped into his bed a couple of times, trying to make this happen, until Lady Sochla came and she’d had to stop.
When Mhairi says this, the prince is ashamed. Scarlet in the face, can’t look at Flidais. But she says, quite sweetly, ‘I know, Oran. I saw and heard a great deal during that time; I understood it in ways a dog could not.’
Because yes, she’s been Bramble, or Bramble’s been her, all this time. Three-way switch, like Blackthorn thought. The one who drowned that day wasn’t Ciar and it wasn’t Flidais. It was the dog. Lady Flidais, the real one, is sad about this, says she loved Bramble dearly, and if she hadn’t taken it into her head to go swimming that day, Bramble would still be here. Prince Oran tells her he knows Bramble can never be replaced. But when she’s ready he would love to help her choose another little dog. Maybe a pair of them.