Read Online The Dark Mirror by Juliet Marillier - Free Book Online
Authors: Juliet Marillier
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knelt down on the step, scarcely breathingas the moon gleamed on this gift as if to show him exactly what she had brought for him. The very small person seemed to be asleep. It wore a kind of bonnet with white fur all around, and had a wee blanket striped in many colors pulled up to its chin. Its face was pearly white, moon-white, as pale as the pelt of a winter hare. Weren’t little babies supposed to be red-faced and ugly? This onehad delicate dark lashes and a mouth that was pink and solemn-looking. Bridei stared, entranced. A brother. A little brother. He wouldn’t be by himself anymore. Heart pounding, he rose to his feet, looking up at that great, silver orb in the dark sky. His hands moved in the sign of acknowledgment and reverence; it was clear to him that he would be in her debt forever.
“Thank you,” he whispered,bowing in the way his foster father had taught him. “I’ll look after him, I promise. I swear it on my life.”
He reached down to pick up the basket, and halted. The small person was awake. Its eyes, gazing up at him gravely, were moon-bright, star-clear, of no color and every color. They were eyes like a dream, like a deep well, like a magical tale with no ending. Perhaps they were blue, but itwas not like any other blue in the world. The small person stirred, and a hand no larger than an acorn came out from the striped blanket, reaching for something invisible.
“There,” Bridei said, bending to tuck the little creature’s arm back in, for if he was shivering from cold what must such a mite be feeling? The tiny hand fastened on his finger, holding tight. Bridei’s heart was acting strangely,as if it were tumbling about in his breast. “You’ll be safe here, I promise.”
It was only after he had carried the basket and its occupant inside and bolted the door behind him that Bridei realized he would have to think fast. This was a place of order and discipline, a place where all moved to the tune of Broichan’s life and Broichan’s path. None of the people who lived here, Mara, Ferat, Donaland the others, ever spoke of families. Even Fidich, who lived in his own small dwelling, had no wife, no sons to learn the patterns of farming. Broichan’s house was no place for children. This newborn would not be received with open arms. Indeed, it would be doubly unwelcome, forthere was no doubt at all it was a gift from
them
, from the Good Folk. The moon had guided them to Bridei’s door.And while an ordinary foundling would be kept warm, fed milk, and probably passed on to a childless couple in one of the settlements for rearing, a child of the forest would not be treated so kindly. Bridei had heard folk talking; such a gift was considered more curse than blessing.
It was useful, at such times, to have begun a druidic education. The basket stood on the kitchen floor, a darkoval. The face of the infant was a circle of white, translucent as if it bore some of the moonlight within. The eyes remained open, following Bridei calmly as he moved about, searching. A key, he needed a key. That charm was supposed to keep an infant safe; to keep it at home. If it stopped folk from stealing a baby away, wouldn’t it also make those inside want to keep the child? He prayed that itwas so. There had to be a key somewhere. He must be quick; if the baby began to cry, and someone woke up, they’d set the basket straight outside again and his little brother would freeze to death the way Uven nearly had. Quickly then, stop rummaging around and use his wits, as Broichan would have bid him do . . . Bridei stood still and concentrated. A key, he’d seen one, a tiny key with a curly biton top . . . Yes, the spice box, Ferat’s prized coffer of yew, that had such a key, and he knew where the cook hid it, it was right up there behind the oil jar. Bridei slipped it off its hook and, moving silently on his bare feet, put his hand down the side of the little basket, between the blanket and the soft, feathery lining.
“Thank you,” he whispered,bowing in the way his foster father had taught him. “I’ll look after him, I promise. I swear it on my life.”
He reached down to pick up the basket, and halted. The small person was awake. Its eyes, gazing up at him gravely, were moon-bright, star-clear, of no color and every color. They were eyes like a dream, like a deep well, like a magical tale with no ending. Perhaps they were blue, but itwas not like any other blue in the world. The small person stirred, and a hand no larger than an acorn came out from the striped blanket, reaching for something invisible.
“There,” Bridei said, bending to tuck the little creature’s arm back in, for if he was shivering from cold what must such a mite be feeling? The tiny hand fastened on his finger, holding tight. Bridei’s heart was acting strangely,as if it were tumbling about in his breast. “You’ll be safe here, I promise.”
It was only after he had carried the basket and its occupant inside and bolted the door behind him that Bridei realized he would have to think fast. This was a place of order and discipline, a place where all moved to the tune of Broichan’s life and Broichan’s path. None of the people who lived here, Mara, Ferat, Donaland the others, ever spoke of families. Even Fidich, who lived in his own small dwelling, had no wife, no sons to learn the patterns of farming. Broichan’s house was no place for children. This newborn would not be received with open arms. Indeed, it would be doubly unwelcome, forthere was no doubt at all it was a gift from
them
, from the Good Folk. The moon had guided them to Bridei’s door.And while an ordinary foundling would be kept warm, fed milk, and probably passed on to a childless couple in one of the settlements for rearing, a child of the forest would not be treated so kindly. Bridei had heard folk talking; such a gift was considered more curse than blessing.
It was useful, at such times, to have begun a druidic education. The basket stood on the kitchen floor, a darkoval. The face of the infant was a circle of white, translucent as if it bore some of the moonlight within. The eyes remained open, following Bridei calmly as he moved about, searching. A key, he needed a key. That charm was supposed to keep an infant safe; to keep it at home. If it stopped folk from stealing a baby away, wouldn’t it also make those inside want to keep the child? He prayed that itwas so. There had to be a key somewhere. He must be quick; if the baby began to cry, and someone woke up, they’d set the basket straight outside again and his little brother would freeze to death the way Uven nearly had. Quickly then, stop rummaging around and use his wits, as Broichan would have bid him do . . . Bridei stood still and concentrated. A key, he’d seen one, a tiny key with a curly biton top . . . Yes, the spice box, Ferat’s prized coffer of yew, that had such a key, and he knew where the cook hid it, it was right up there behind the oil jar. Bridei slipped it off its hook and, moving silently on his bare feet, put his hand down the side of the little basket, between the blanket and the soft, feathery lining.
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