Free Daughter Of The Forest by Juliet Marillier Page B

eyes off my face. I held the cup out toward his lips, my hand brushing his arm as I did so. He started violently, clutching the blanket tightly around him and pressing back hard against the wall, as far away from me as he could get. I could smell the fear and feel the fine vibration that ran through every part of his body. It was like the trembling of a high-bred horse that has been mistreated.
    My hand was still steady; I hadn’t spilled a drop, though my heart was pounding. I put the cup down by the bed and retreated to my stool.
    “Well then, drink it when you’re ready,” I said, settling down and folding my hands in my lap. “Did you ever hear the story of the cup of Isha now? It was a strange one indeed, for when Bryn found it, after he bested the three-headed giant and entered the castle of fire, it spoke to him as he reached out to take it, dazzled by the emeralds and silver ornaments on it. He who is pure of heart may drink from me , it said in a voice that was small but terrible. And Bryn was afraid then to take it, but the voice fell silent, and he took the cup and hid it deep in his cloak.”
    I watched him carefully as I spoke; he was still hunched, half sitting, against the far wall, hugging the blanket around him.
    “It wasn’t until much later that Bryn came to a little stream and, remembering the cup, took it out to get himself a drink. But strangely, when he drew the goblet from his cloak, it was already full with clear water. He set it on the ground, wondering much, and before he could stop it, his horse bent down its neck and took a long drink. Stranger still, no matter how deep the beast drank, the cup of Isha remained full to the brim. There seemed to be no ill effect on the horse; still, Bryn himself did not use the cup, but dipped his hands into the stream and quenched his thirst that way. For, he reasoned, a dumb animal must be pure of heart, for it knows no different, but plainly this cup is deeply enchanted and must be meant for the greatest man on earth, and I am but a lowly traveler. How could I be worthy enough to drink from such a magical vessel?”
    The boy moved one hand; his fingers made a weak semblance of the sign used to ward off evil. I’d seen it sometimes, when travelers passed through, but never before directed at myself.
    “I’m no sorceress,” I said. “I’m a healer; and I’m here to help you get better. That might be hard for you to believe, but it’s the truth. I don’t lie. There’s no reason to be afraid of me, or of Father Brien. We mean you no harm.”
    The boy coughed, and tried to moisten his lips with a parched tongue.
    “Playing games,” he managed, and the bitterness of his slurred speech was shocking. “Cat and mouse. Why not just finish me off?”
    He had to force the words out, and I could hardly understand him. Still, the fact that he spoke at all was something.
    “Does it take so long to learn I won’t talk? Just finish it, damn you .”
    This seemed to exhaust him, and he lay back on the bed, staring up at nothing, the blanket still clutched around him. I chose my words carefully.
    “It’s men that play games,” I said, “and men that did this to you. But I’m not asking you to tell any secrets, or do anything but get well. This is no cup of Isha; drink from it and you get only what your body needs. Anyway, it was one of my brothers that rescued you, and I helped him. Why would I want to harm you, after that?”
    He turned his head slightly then, and his look was dismissive.
    “One of your brothers,” he said. “How many of them do you have?”
    “Six.”
    “Six,” he echoed scornfully. “Six killers. Six demons from hell. But how could you understand? You’re a girl.”
    His tone held both venom and fear. I wondered how Father Brien had managed thus far; perhaps the herbs had kept the boy cooperative and docile, so that what he needed could be done without dispute.
    “My brother risked a great deal to help you,” I said, “and