Dreamer's Pool
Juliet Marillier
About Dreamer’s Pool
Embittered healer Blackthorn, wrongly condemned to death, is offered a lifeline by a mysterious stranger. In return, she must set aside her bid for vengeance against the man who destroyed all that she once loved. Not only that: for seven years she must agree to help anyone who asks for her aid. She and her companion Grim settle on the fringes of a mysterious forest in Dalriada, far from the place of their incarceration, and start a new life.
Oran, the crown prince of Dalriada, is waiting for his bride-to-be, Lady Flidais. Her letters and sweet portrait have convinced him that she is his destined true love.
But letters can lie.
To save Oran from disaster, Blackthorn and Grim will need courage, ingenuity, and more than a little magic.
Contents
Cover
About Dreamer’s Pool
Dedication
Character List
1 Blackthorn
2 Grim
3 Oran
4 Blackthorn
5 Grim
6 Oran
7 Blackthorn
8 Grim
9 Oran
10 Blackthorn
11 Grim
12 Oran
13 Blackthorn
14 Oran
15 Blackthorn
16 Oran
17 Blackthorn
18 Grim
19 Oran
20 Blackthorn
21 Grim
22 Oran
23 Grim
24 Blackthorn
25 Oran
26 Grim
27 Blackthorn
28 Grim
29 Oran
30 Blackthorn
31 Grim
32 Blackthorn
33 Oran
34 Grim
35 Blackthorn
36 Grim
37 Oran
38 Blackthorn
39 Oran
40 Grim
41 Blackthorn
Acknowledgments
About Juliet Marillier
Also by Juliet Marillier
Copyright page
To the daughters of Papatuanuku
CHARACTER LIST
Approximate pronunciations are given for the more difficult names.
kh = soft guttural, as in Scottish ‘loch’
LAOIS / LAIGIN (Leesh / Lain)
Blackthorn
a prisoner
Grim
a prisoner
Poxy
prisoners
Dribbles
Strangler
Frog Spawn
Slammer
a prison guard
Tiny
a prison guard
Mathuin
chieftain of Laois in northern Laigin
Conmael
a fey nobleman
ULAID
Muadan
chieftain of southern Ulaid
Breda
Muadan’s wife
DALRIADA
Oran
Prince of Dalriada
Ruairi
(rua-ry)
Oran’s father, King of Dalriada. His court is at Cahercorcan
Eabha
(eh-va)
Oran’s mother, Queen of Dalriada
Lady Sochla
(sokh-la)
Eabha’s sister, Oran’s aunt
Sinead
(shi-nehd)
her personal maid
Feabhal
(fa-val)
Ruairi’s chief councillor
Master Cael
a senior lawman
Master Tassach
a senior lawman
Oisin
(a-sheen)
a druid
Oran’s household at Winterfalls
Donagan
Oran’s body servant and friend
Aedan
steward
Fíona
his wife
Eochu
(och-u)
stable master
Niall
head farmer
Brid
head cook
Teafa
(ta-fa)
a young seamstress
Lochlan
head guard
Garalt
guard
Fergal
guard
Winterfalls village
Fraoch
(frech)
smith
Ornait
his mother
Emer
(eh-ver)
his younger sister
Iobhar
(ee-var)
brewer
Eibhlin
(ev-lin)
his wife
Scannal
miller
Deaman
(da-maun)
baker
Luach
(lokh)
weaver
Becca
a friend of Emer
Cathan
Becca’s first love
Brocc
sheep farmer
Cliona
sheep farmer
Pátraic
lad from the brewery
Silverlake village
Branoc
baker
Ernan
miller (deceased)
Ness
Ernan’s daughter
Mór
a villager
CLOUD HILL / LAIGIN
Lord Cadhan
chieftain of Cloud Hill in northern Laigin
Flidais
(flid-is)
his daughter
Domnall
(don-al)
senior man-at-arms, married to Nuala
Eoin
(ohn)
man-at-arms
Seanan
(shan-aun)
man-at-arms
Ciar
(keer)
Flidais’s personal maid
Mhairi
(mah-ree)
maidservant
Deirdre
(dee-dra)
maidservant
Nuala
(noo-la)
maidservant, married to Domnall
OTHERS
Lorcan mac Cellaig
King of Mide (an historical figure, circa 848)
Abhan
(a-van)
a travelling horse trader
and not forgetting
Snow
Oran’s horse
Star
Donagan’s horse
Apple
Flidais’s horse
Storm and Sturdy
Scannal’s cart horses
Tinker and Treasure
Abhan’s cart horses
Bramble
Flidais’s dog
1
~BLACKTHORN~
I fished out the rusty nail from under my pallet and scratched another mark on the wall. Tomorrow would be midsummer, not that a person could tell rain from shine in this cesspit. I’d been here a year. A whole year of filth and abuse and being shoved back down the moment I lifted myself so much as an inch. Tomorrow, at last, I’d get my chance to speak out. Tomorrow I would tell my story.
In the darkness of the cell opposite, Grim began muttering. A moment later the door down at the guard post creaked open. How Grim could tell the guards were coming before we heard them was a mystery, but he always knew. The muttering was a kind of shield. At night, when the place belonged to us prisoners, he spoke more sense.
A jingle of metal; footsteps approaching. Long strides, heavy footed. Slammer. Usually, when he came, we’d shrink back into the shadows, hoping not to draw his attention. Today I stood by the bars waiting. My time in this place had broken me down. The person they’d locked up last summer was gone, and she wasn’t coming back. But tomorrow I’d speak for that woman, the one I had been. Tomorrow I’d tell the truth, and if the council had any sense of right and wrong, they’d make sure justice was done. The thought of that kept me on my feet even when Slammer went into his little routine, smashing his club into the bars of each cell in turn, liking the way it made us jump. Yelling his stupid names for us, names that had stuck like manure on a boot, so we even used them for one another, Grim and I being the only exceptions. Peering in to make sure we looked sufficiently cowed and beaten down.
‘Bonehead!’ The club crashed against Grim’s bars. ‘Stop your stupid drivelling!’
At the back of his cell Grim was a dark bundle against the wall, head down on drawn-up knees, hands over ears, still muttering away. Funny thing was, if Slammer had opened that cell door just a crack, Grim could have killed him with his bare hands and not raised a sweat doing it. I’d seen him at night, pulling himself up on the bars, standing on his hands, keeping himself strong as if there might be giants to kill in the morning.
The guard turned my way. ‘Slut!’ Crash!
I wished I had the strength to keep quite still as the club thumped the bars right by my head, but the three hundred and fifty-odd days had taken their toll, and I couldn’t help wincing. Slammer didn’t move on to the cell next door as usual. He stopped on the other side of the bars, squinting through at me. Pig.
‘Got something to tell you, Slut.’ His voice was a confidential murmur now; it made my skin crawl.
Slammer liked playing games. He was always teasing the men with talk of messages from home, or hinting at opportunities for getting out. He was a liar. They all were.
‘Something you won’t like,’ he said.
‘If I won’t like it, why would I want to hear it?’
‘Oh, you’ll want to hear this.’ He put his face right next to the bars, so close I could smell his foul breath. Not that it made much difference; the whole place stank of unwashed bodies and overflowing latrine buckets and plain despair. ‘It’s about tomorrow.’
‘If you’re here to tell me that tomorrow’s the midsummer council, don’t trouble yourself. I’ve been waiting for this since the day I was thrown into this festering dump.’
‘Ah,’ said Slammer in a voice I liked even less than the previous one. ‘That’s just it.’
Meaning, I could tell, exactly the opposite. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘Now you’re interested.’
‘What do you mean, that’s just it?’
‘What’ll you give me, if I tell you?’
‘This,’ I said, and spat in his face. He was asking for it.
‘Euch!’ He wiped a sleeve across his cheek. ‘Filthy whore!’
Filthy was right; but not the other. I’d never given myself willingly in here, and I’d never been paid for the privilege. The guards had taken what they wanted in those first days, when I’d still been fresh; when I’d looked and felt and smelled like a woman. They didn’t bother me now. None of them was desperate enough to want the rank, skinny, lice-ridden creature I’d become. Which meant I had nothing at all to offer Slammer in return for whatever scrap of information he was teasing me with.
‘That’s the last time you’ll spit at me, Slut!’ hissed Slammer.
‘You’re right for once, since I’ll be out of this place tomorrow.’
He smiled, but his eyes stayed cold. ‘Uh-huh.’ The way he said it meant I was wrong. But I wasn’t. I’d been told my name was on the list. The law said a chieftain couldn’t keep prisoners in custody more than a year without hearing their cases. And with all the chieftains of Laigin here, even a wretch like Mathuin, who didn’t deserve the title of chieftain, would abide by the rules.
‘You’ll be out, all right,’ Slammer said. ‘But not the way you think.’
Oh, he was enjoying this, whatever it was. My mouth went dry. Over in the cell opposite, Grim had fallen silent. I couldn’t see him now; Slammer’s bulk took up all my space. I forced myself to keep quiet. I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of hearing me beg.
‘You must have really got up Mathuin’s nose,’ he said. ‘What did you do to make him so angry?’ Perhaps knowing he wouldn’t get an answer, Slammer went right on. ‘Overheard a little exchange. Someone wants you out of the way before the hearing, not after.’
‘Out of the way?’
‘Someone wants to make sure your case never goes before the council. First thing in the morning, you’re to be disposed of. Quick, quiet, final. Name crossed off the list. No need to bother the chieftains with any of it.’ He was scrutinising me between the bars, waiting for me to weep, collapse, scream defiance.
‘Why have you told me this?’ A lie. A trick. He was full of them. I willed my heart to slow down, but it was hopping all over the place like a creature i
n a trap.
‘What, you’d sooner not know until I drag you out there in the morning and someone gives you a nasty surprise? Little knife in the heart, pair of thumbs to the throat?’
‘You’re lying.’
‘Better say your prayers, Slut.’ He moved off along the row. ‘Poxy!’ Smash! ‘Strangler!’ Crash! ‘Frog Spawn!’ Slam!
Across the walkway, Grim was standing at the front of his cell, big hands wrapped around the bars.
‘What are you looking at?’ I snarled, turning away before my face could show him anything. The three hundred and fifty-odd marks stared back from the wall, mocking me. Not a count to freedom and justice after all; only a count to a swift and violent end. Because, deep down, I knew this must be true. Slammer didn’t have the imagination to play a trick like this.
