Naamah's Kiss - Jacqueline Carey [3]
And yet we were despised for it.
"Why?" I asked.
My mother gave me her wry smile. "The man who united the rest of Alba, Cinhil Ru of the Cullach Gorrym, lied. He said the Maghuin Dhonn had sacrificed their diadh-anam and gone mad. That the same fate would befall them all unless they set aside their petty quarrels and stood together. And so they did."
"Without us," I said.
"Without us," she agreed. "The world is not always fair, Moirin mine. And yet Alba has never been conquered since, and we are still here."
And then there were the tales of our heritage.
The summer that I was ten years old, my mother took me on a pilgrimage to visit a place made sacred by our history. It was the most exciting thing that had ever happened in my life. We were weeks travelling. She taught me to read the taisgaidh markers, the signs indicating the paths we travelled were held freely in trust for all of Alba. No one might bar another's passage nor offer violence on taisgaidh land.
Of course, we were prudent and concealed ourselves in twilight when others passed. Still, it gave me a thrill to see other people. My mother identified them for me in a low whisper, willing passersby not to hear her voice. If they heard aught, they glanced around and shrugged, concluding it was merely the wind.
The folk of the Cullach Gorrym looked most like us—slight and dark, with black hair and eyes. But there were others I'd heard about only in stories, the Tarbh Cro and Eidlach Or and Fhalair Ban, tall and fair-skinned, with hair that blazed like fire or gleamed like ripe wheat, startling blue, green, or grey eyes.
The first time I saw one, it stirred a memory.
Mayhap it was his milky-white skin and green, green eyes that drew you?
After they had passed and we had released the twilight, I looked at my mother with her warm brown skin. I stretched out my hands and studied them. I was used to thinking of us as almost one person. But my skin was a different hue than hers, honey-colored.
I'd never thought on it.
I closed my eyes and touched my lids. I wondered what color my eyes were. I didn't know.
It may seem strange, but what is obvious to an adult is not always obvious to a child. We led a solitary life. There was me, and there was my mother. Other people were murmurs in the darkness, baskets appearing on the hearth. Tales out of history, tales out of lore. Until I saw my first fair-skinned stranger, it never occurred to me that the tales stopped short.
I had no idea who my father was.
* * *
CHAPTER TWO
I kept the question to myself.
I was a child, but I was old enough to reason. If my mother had not spoken of it, like as not she had cause. If she did not speak of it at Clunderry, I would wait until the moment was right.
Clunderry.
It was the place where things had gone awry and changed forever. It was the place where all had been redeemed.
We arrived in the early evening of Midsummer's Day. Although I know now that it was a simple country estate, the castle and the surrounding village seemed awesome to me. I caught my breath as we emerged from taisgaidh land into civilization.
I expected my mother to summon the twilight, but she didn't.
We passed the castle and walked onward. There were balefires burning on the outskirts of the fields. Crops were ripe. I breathed deep, smelling rich, fertile soil. Once again, something new stirred in me.
Roots…
Growth…
I closed my eyes. Behind my lids, I saw the figure of a man limned in brightness, his head bowed, cupping a seedling in his palm. He raised his head and smiled with infinite gentleness. The scent of apples filled