~ Chapter IX ~
Mount Drún

Shrugging, the girl obeyed. Stretching her hand to the knobs, she tugged the doors open, preparing herself for a flood of fabric. But she was quite taken aback at the sight of the inside of the wardrobe. On the worn wooden floor was a small pile of folded clothes, next to a pair of leather boots. A wide belt lay across the pile, its bronze buckle gleaming in the dull light of the torches. Besides these articles, the inside of the wardrobe was bare.

Maelé saw her hesitation and urged her forward. "Take them, child. They will fit you well." Still tentative, Fíohra reached in and took up the offered outfit. Upon her withdrawal, the wardrobe doors snapped shut, surprising her enough to drop the clothes. Maelé bent to pick them up. "Yes, it is wise to remove the articles quickly. The wardrobe will not wait long."

"I can see that," she muttered, holding up the clothes offered her by the servant. She frowned. "Am I supposed to wear this?" The wardrobe had provided her not with the dress she was expecting, but rather with a pair of deerskin leggings and a long blue tunic. A vest with pockets of many sizes completed the outfit, along with the belt and boots. It was an ensemble unlike anything Fíohra had ever seen before—especially on a woman.

"I see there was something else you had in mind, small one. Am I correct?"

"Aye. These are…these are boys' clothes," she said in a rush, fearing to offend the provider of the unsuitable clothes. "Not that they're not…nice," she thought it wise to add, fearing the wardrobe had taken offense anyway.

"And they will serve you far better in the mountain than the clothes of your village, little mortal. Try them on," Maelé ordered. Reluctant but knowing better than to refuse, Fíohra obeyed, slipping out of the linen towel and into the new clothes as quickly as she could. To her surprise, the leggings and tunic were more comfortable than she had imagined. Besides, she thought with a twinge of sadness, it's not as if anyone from home will see me and laugh. When she was finished, Maelé brought her to the wardrobe again. "There is yet one thing you need." The servant placed its hand on the doors again. "Dagger," it said. Fíohra started and stared at Maelé with disbelieving eyes.

"Dagger?" she repeated. "Why ever would I need a dagger?" The fear that she had pushed deep within her earlier began to bubble to the surface, and she worked hard to stay calm.

"The master will tell you. Open it," Maelé instructed once again.

Her hand was even slower to obey this time, but Fíohra forgot her apprehension for a moment as the doors swung open. There, lying in the center of the wardrobe, a bright dagger lay wrapped in its black leather sheath. Words worked into the cloth glimmered faintly, sending more shivers up Fíohra's spine. She reached out and took the weapon, unable to keep from admiring the beauty of the bronze wire-work on the hilt. A cloudy blue stone embedded in the hilt reflected the torchlight like a dull star, and Fíohra felt suddenly more confident as she threaded the sheath through her belt. It was far too lovely a thing to fear.

"Now you are attired," Maelé announced. "But you must be hungry."

"Aye," Fíohra agreed, her stomach rumbling in assent.

"Then do as I did and summon your meal."

Fíohra frowned. "What…ah, what do I say?"

"Food. Or if you wish, something more specific. You may begin that way, by instructing it. But later it will be best to let the wardrobe choose for you. It will have made your acquaintance by then, and it may not like to be ordered about." Fíohra looked troubled and Maelé strove to clarify. "It is a particular item, this wardrobe. Tricksome in a way that makes it nearly human." The servant looked down at its charge. "You may soon grow to understand it better than I."

A little reassured, Fíohra placed her hand in the place Maelé had shown her. "Porridge," she said at last, after contemplating the needs of her empty stomach. "And bread." There was no sound or any other indication that the summoning had taken place, but after a moment Maelé motioned for her to open the doors. Fíohra did so and found, to her delight, a steaming bowl of porridge and a loaf of current bread. She took the items with a silent word of gratitude towards the unseen providers of her breakfast. Or lunch, she realized with a start. It must be long after noon by now, Fíohra thought.

The familiar stab of panic turned her stomach, but she willed it away with a ferocious bite of current bread. I will face tonight without fear, she told herself as she ate, one hand on the hilt of her dagger. I will not be a coward.

Upon the completion of her meal and much to Fíohra's frustration, Maelé summoned various cosmetic items from the wardrobe and—rather painfully—fixed the girl's hair. Unused to the unforgiving tines of the ivory comb, Fíohra had to bite her lip to keep from crying out in pain as the servant untangled the snarls in her wet hair. Maelé then twisted the damp locks into a braid and pinned it to sit on the nape of Fíohra's neck.

Once fastened, however, Fíohra could not help but admit that she liked the freedom the braid allowed. She had hardly ever bothered to order her hair before, preferring it long, unkempt and often in her eyes. But this was much better. She even managed to thank Maelé, though her scalp still smarted.

Maelé bowed and nodded to the stairs. "Indeed, small one. But now we must go; there is still much for you to see before this evening."

~o~

The stone servant spoke truly. For hours it walked with Fíohra through the innumerable passages, hallways and tunnels of the great cavern. Yet to the girl's surprise, they never set foot on the floor of the open space surrounding the central pillar. When she asked her guide the reason for their route, Maelé replied only that it was being prepared for her audience that evening. Her curiosity unsatisfied, Fíohra nevertheless set it aside in the growing pile of questions in her mind, saving it for the later confrontation with the orchestrator of her new life. She only hoped—for both their sakes—that he had good answers.

Fíohra found their exploration of the mountain labyrinth a fitting distraction, however, and after a while she even caught herself enjoying it. It took the entire afternoon, but gradually a picture of her new home began to draw itself in Fíohra's head. When she closed her eyes, the picture grew tangible.

In the center was the mighty pillar, a fortress unto itself. Surrounding it was the flat and unbroken floor of the cavern, stretching in all directions for what would have been many bowshots. Every few hundred paces, a doorway opened into the rock of the mountain, leading up into rooms, halls, porches, balconies and porticos, part of which were Fíohra's chambers. It was truly a vast place. Before long Fíohra found herself thinking of it in Maelé's terms—not a cave or cavern, but rather a splendid palace.

She took care to memorize the paths to places of interest, of which there were many. Maelé first led her charge up many flights of stairs until—panting and exhausted—they reached a great Balcony. Near the roof of the cavern, the Balcony overlooked the pillar, the central court and much of the surrounding mountain. Fíohra stepped up to the stone balustrade with shaking hands and surveyed the scene with bated breath; its sheer height made her dizzy. But it was also a spectacular view. There Maelé helped her understand the structure of her new home, pointing out the dark patches on the far wall that Fíohra had mistaken as shadows. They were windows, the servant explained, each signifying a great maze of rooms and chambers dug deeper in the rock of the mountain beyond. As they began the long descent, Fíohra had the sense to ask if the other rooms were occupied.

"The maeleachlainn care for them," was Maelé's response.

"Then I'm the only…guest?" Fíohra asked, her momentary bubble of hope bursting.

In answer, Maelé turned to look her charge in the eye. "Yes, young one. You are the only mortal within the halls of Drún."

Fíohra turned away, feeling she knew not what. Her hope had been a fool's hope, and she shook her head in self-reproach as she continued to follow her guide.

Maelé led her through great tapestried halls, the cloth hangings depicting events strange and ancient in brilliant colors. Other rooms held weapons and armor, as bright and sharp as the day they were made. Still others were as bare as the central court, with only a wooden chair or an old desk standing in the corner. They passed quickly through these empty rooms; for, as Fíohra soon learned, there was much more to see.

From the heights of the Balcony they passed to the lower levels, only a few above the floor of the cavern. There Maelé brought Fíohra to the stables of the carraiglas, the great horse-like beasts that had delivered her to the mountain just that morning. Fíohra watched in wonder and not a little fear as Maelé opened a stall and led one of the creatures out. The stone fingers stroked the stone muzzle with a surprising degree of familiarity.

"What is it?' Fíohra asked as Maelé pushed the wiry forelock from the creature's broad forehead.

"The spirit of a mortal horse with the strength of stone in its bones and sinews. The maeleachlainn brought you here on a carraiglas, did it not?"

"Aye." The girl could not help but shudder at the memory, and she tried to imagine what it would be like to ride one of the beasts without the panic that had plagued her earlier. It had been fast, she remembered, faster than any flesh-and-blood creature could run. If she had not been so terrified, it might have even been exhilarating.

"You will learn to ride, I think," Maelé said after a few moments.

"What?"

"Yes. You may find need of their speed one day. They are useful beasts, though their manners are much like those of the wardrobe. Capricious and headstrong." Maelé studied its young charge. "But you may prove to have spirit enough to bend one to your command, small though you are. The master will decide," the servant said, leading the carraiglas back into its iron-sheathed stall. Fíohra felt her heart flip-flop in her chest at the thought, though whether it was from fear or from excitement she could not tell. She waited in silence for Maelé to come out and continue their explorations, aware once more of the fast-approaching evening and her audience with the master.