Kushiel's Justice - Jacqueline Carey [139]
"What happens now?" I whispered to Dorelei.
She smiled, dimpled. "More eating and drinking. What else?”
There was a special horse-litter waiting to carry us back to the fortress for the third and final day of celebration. It was a open affair with a low railing, draped with fine-combed red wool and strewn with cushions, slung fore and aft between a pair of perfectly matched white horses; a gift, I learned later, from the Lady of the Dalriada.
Once our procession was under way, many of the watching commonfolk approached to touch the hanging drapery and partake in the blessings the ollamhs had invoked for us. Despite the lead rider's best efforts to set a slow, even pace, the litter lurched and swayed somewhat fierce. Dorelei and I laughed breathlessly and clutched at one another, fearful of being pitched overboard.
Some distance from the edge of the park, it stopped.
I didn't know why, not at first. I only knew a tense hush fell over the procession. The commonfolk around us vanished, melting away unobtrusively.
And then I saw the Maghuin Dhonn.
Berlik in his bearskin robe, I knew; and Morwen and Ferghus. There were a score of others with them, men and women alike. Aside from Berlik and Morwen with their mist-colored eyes, they were all as dark as the Cruithne, only marked with a strange, wild air and a different angle to the planes of their faces. They stood quiet and motionless in their roughspun clothes, watching and waiting. None of them appeared armed, although Ferghus had his harp over his shoulder. I didn't see the leather bag around Morwen's neck, and guessed it was hidden away once more.
Drustan rode forward, his face impassive. "You are not welcome here.”
"It is taisgaidh land, Cruarch." Berlik's voice was as I remembered, like something emerging from the deep, hollow places of the earth. "Will you profane the old ways?”
Drustan ignored the question. "What do you want?”
Berlik's pale, somber gaze rested on Dorelei and me. I felt her shiver violently at my side. "Not all of the diadh-anams of Alba have been invoked this day. We come to offer the blessing of the Maghuin Dhonn upon this union. Do you refuse it?”
I was silent, not knowing how to answer.
"We do." Dorelei's voice was unexpectedly forceful. "There is a shadow on you, my lord; on all of you. I wish no part of it.”
Berlik inclined his head slightly. "There is darkness in all of us, lady; even in the heart of Alba. It is not wise to ignore it.”
"Is that a threat?" Drustan asked sharply.
The Maghuin Dhonn looked steadily at him. "No, Cruarch. It is a truth.”
Although the skies were clear, somewhere in the distance there was an ominous rumble of thunder. Hyacinthe, seated atop a bay gelding, was still and silent, but there was no trace of the merry Tsingano lad about him now; only the Master of the Straits. The mantle of power clung to him as clearly as Berlik's bearskin robe, and infinitely more dangerous.
The weary lines etched on Berlik's face deepened.
"So," he said to Hyacinthe. "You too, magician?" Hyacinthe made no answer. Berlik sighed. "We are few," he said, addressing his words to all of us. "We are ancient, and we are few. The old blood runs true in very few of us, now. But we have been Alba's caretakers for a long, long time. The future narrows. Much that we have preserved lies in jeopardy. Remember that we made this offer.”
With that, Berlik bowed, his robe rippling around him, then turned and began walking westward across the park. All of his folk followed, wordless. Only the harpist Ferghus sent a parting glance in our direction, and that was at his son Conor, riding at Eamonn's side. Conor averted his eyes, not meeting his father's gaze. Outside of Innisclan, no one knew his paternity.