Child of the Prophecy

by Juliet Marillier

  “And where does your uncle Eamonn fit into all this?”

  “Just that he has the largest and best-equipped force of fighting men in all of Ulster,” said Muirrin airily. “Hold this, will you, while I strain it through. Thanks. He has to be part of it. They all do. It’s Father’s job to keep them from each other’s throats long enough for the whole thing to work. A bit like being the eldest sister, I should think it is.”

  I was bursting with questions, but felt I could ask her no more without arousing suspicion. Instead I watched and listened, for my father had trained me to solve puzzles. The man Eamonn was a closed book; difficult, withdrawn. He would sit at the supper table next to Aunt Aisling, and he would be very quiet, almost unnaturally so. One might think his failure to contribute to the conversation was caused by overindulgence in the good ale provided, for he would sit there drinking solidly all evening, and staring into space, and eating little. But his eyes gave him away. I could tell he was listening acutely and storing up whatever might someday be of value to him. And still I caught him watching me, time after time, as if I were the final piece of his puzzle and he had not yet decided where to put me. I looked at him under my lashes. His gaze remained unwavering. He’s the one, I thought. He’s the one Grandmother would tell me to target. Find yourself a man of influence, Fainne. A woman can do wonders with such a man as her tool. The very idea terrified me. It made my stomach churn and my skin turn to goose bumps.

  One by one, the partners of the alliance made their farewells and left Sevenwaters under armed escort. For their own protection, was the explanation given, as Sean’s men in their forest-colored garb rode off at front and rear, with the visitors close-guarded between. How could you work side by side, planning some sort of major campaign, I asked Muirrin, if there was such a lack of trust between you? Might not your ally turn and stab you in the back?

  “Oh, it’s not just that,” said Muirrin. “It’s the forest. The forest knows its own. Others cannot go in and out in safety. Paths change. Roots grow over the track. Voices lead people astray, and mists rise.” She spoke as if of everyday matters, and I felt the hairs on the back of my neck prickle.

  “Voices?” I echoed.

  “Not everyone hears them,” she told me. “But the forest is very old. Entrusted to our family in ancient times. We are its guardians. We are by no means its only dwellers.”

  I nodded. “I’ve heard the tale,” I said cautiously. “Didn’t one of your—our—ancestors wed a woman of the Fomhóire?”

  “That’s what they say. And from her came the secret of the Islands. They are tied up together: the Islands, the forest, the trust the Fair Folk laid on us, long ago. If one part fails, all fails. You may know of this already.”

  “A little. I’d like to learn more.”

  “You’d best ask Conor. He tells the tale better than anyone.”

  But I was avoiding Conor. Still he remained at Sevenwaters, but he had made no effort to seek me out, instead spending much of his time in conference with Sean, or talking with Muirrin, or seated silently in the garden gazing out toward the forest. I had the impression he was waiting.

  My mind was on other things. Uncle Sean had decreed I must learn to ride properly, since one never knew when one might need to do so at short notice. It was a humiliating experience. The horses didn’t trust me. And everyone could ride, even Eilis who was barely five years old. All very well for her, I thought crossly, watching her canter around the yard on her little black pony. She’d been brought up to it. I was almost tempted to make the pony shy and throw her off. A long time ago, in another world, Darragh had offered to teach me to ride and I had refused. Now I regretted it bitterly. Aoife would not have trembled and edged away from me. Darragh would have been patient. He might have made a joke of it, but he would never have laughed at me the way Eilis did. Not that the stable lads weren’t eager to help, but that had more to do with the way I smiled at them than any natural kindness. Since my arrival at Sevenwaters I had not once gone forth among folk without clothing myself in that magical garb of beauty and sweetness the Glamour allowed. No wonder folk said I looked like my mother. Without the guise of the Glamour, I would be paralyzed by my own awkwardness. But here in the stableyard I was tempted to shrug it off and show them just what a plain, shy thing I really was. I could have used a trick or two to put them in their place. But I resisted the urge and just got on with things. By the end of the morning I was tired and frustrated, and my teachers were scratching their heads in puzzlement.

  “The horses just don’t take to you,” remarked one of the stable hands. “Never seen anything like it.” Beside him, the mare I had been riding rolled her eyes and shivered.

  “Never mind,” I said. “Thank you for your time.”

  “It’s an honor, my lady,” the lad said, blushing furiously. Then I fled. I was supposed to be taking Eilis and Maeve back to the house to get cleaned up and start on some needlework. But suddenly that was more than I could face, and I slipped quietly away behind the stables, desperate for a few moments alone. There was a place where you could sit in peace, a back door with three steps coming down. Just a little respite with no unwanted company, that was all I needed.

  But there was company. On the steps sat Eamonn, dressed for riding, booted legs stretched out before him, arms folded, his eyes fixed on the middle distance and his expression shadowed, as if deep in thought. He wore a dark green tunic over his riding clothes.

  “Oh,” I said, taken aback. “Oh—I’m sorry…”

  He rose to his feet. “Fainne, I think I have preempted your place of refuge. In any case, I should go. I’m returning home today. I have many matters to attend to.”

  Frozen with shyness, Glamour or no Glamour, I could not think what to say to him or how to act. Automatically, I spoke in the soft, breathless sort of voice my grandmother would have recommended for such a situation, and I moved as she had taught me, for I could not think what else to do.

  “Please—stay if you wish. I did not intend to disturb you. You’re right, this is a place to flee to when things—when things become difficult. But—I don’t mind sharing it. You, too, desire peace and quiet? A spell away from the hubbub of affairs? You seem a very busy man.” I moved forward hesitantly, and felt myself blushing delicately, with no need for the craft.

  “Please,” he said. “Sit down. You have been riding, have you not? You’ll be tired.”

  “I am somewhat weary,” I said with a rueful smile, and seated myself gracefully on the top step. He stood by me, his expression guarded as always.

  “You’ve never learned to ride? That’s unusual for a girl of your age,” observed Eamonn.

  “I know,” I said with complete honesty. “And indeed I have no wish to learn, but Uncle Sean says I must. I would prefer to spend my time on other pursuits.”

  “Other pursuits?”

  He seemed to want to talk to me. Perhaps Grandmother’s advice on how to deal with men was sounder than I had thought. I was not sure what his preferred answer to this question might be. I made a guess.

  “Sewing, reading, studying. I am not accustomed to so many folk.”

  He gave a nod of approval. It seemed I had judged him well enough.

  “You have not, then, grown up in a family such as my sister’s? Were you raised in your father’s household?”

  It was a mistake ever to underestimate such a man. I felt the blush deepen, and lowered my eyes. “I—excuse me, this distresses me. You would need to ask my uncle Sean. I find it painful to speak of this.”

  Eamonn squatted down beside me, clearly concerned. But I had not missed the searching expression in his dark eyes.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’ve upset you. I had no intention—”

  “It’s all right.” My voice wobbled a little. “I—I don’t care to speak of these things. I have led a rather sheltered existence, until I came here. A life of quiet and contemplation.”

  “For a long time I believed your mother had drow
ned on my own land, through my own negligence,” Eamonn said. “I learned eventually that she had survived and was in a house of prayer. They said she was in fragile health. But—forgive me, but to be blunt, nobody mentioned a daughter.”

  “I never knew my mother,” I said in a whisper. This conversation was unsettling me. I could not understand what he wanted. If he wished to learn secrets that might be of strategic advantage, he could hardly expect to get them from me.

  “She was very like you,” said Eamonn. “Niamh was much admired as a girl. Indeed, there were never two sisters so unlike.” His mouth twisted. His face was quite close to my own.

  “You will no doubt be pleased to return home at last,” I said.

  He stared back at me, silent.

  “Your own family will be missing you,” I added.

  “Aisling is all the family I have,” he said after a moment, and now he was looking down at the ground.

  I paused. “You surprise me,” I said. “No wife? No children? Perhaps my lack of exposure to the world limits my understanding of such things, but are you not anxious for an heir to your estates?”

  He gave the tiniest of smiles. “You are very direct, Fainne. Startlingly so.”

  I employed Grandmother’s teaching again, making a delicate gesture of confusion, fingers up to my lips. “I’m sorry. I had no wish to offend you. I grew up in solitude, and never learned the art of conversation. Please ignore what I said.”

  “It is unusual, I suppose,” said Eamonn, moving around to sit by me on the steps. “Once, I imagined I could have those things. After all, a man considers them no more than a basic right. But everything changed.”

  “How?”

  He looked down at his hands, now tightly clenched together.

  “Ah. Now you venture into those matters of which I cannot speak. We must each keep our secrets, I think.”

  “I’m sorry, Eamonn.”

  He glanced at me, brows raised.

  “You would prefer I called you Uncle Eamonn? It doesn’t seem altogether appropriate.”

  “Indeed not, Fainne. And after all, I am not your uncle, though I might have been. I should go. My men will be waiting. It’s a long ride to Sídhe Dubh.”

  “That is where you live?”

  “And at Glencarnagh. You would prefer that house. It’s more of a place for a woman.”

  “And I’d better go back to the children,” I said. “They must be tidied up and given some sewing to do. Aunt Aisling keeps us all busy. I don’t mind. It’s just that they’re so loud.”

  Eamonn smiled. It improved his appearance markedly. A pity he was so old. Nine and thirty at least, I thought. Older than my father.

  “You like quiet, then?”

  I nodded. “I might have better stayed in the south, and dedicated myself to a life of peace and contemplation,” I said softly, pleased that I had not had to lie.

  “You would not then wish for a family of your own, someday?” Eamonn asked gravely.

  I guessed at what Grandmother would think appropriate here. “Indeed yes,” I breathed, making my face the picture of exquisite young womanhood, on the brink of discovery. “A husband, a fine son, a lovely little daughter to watch over—doesn’t every girl long for that?”

  There was another pause. “I hope,” said Eamonn, “I hope Sean chooses wisely for you. I would not see such a—I hope he exercises sound judgment on your behalf. Now I must be off. Good luck with your riding. I’m sure you will become as accomplished at that as no doubt you are at everything else.”

  “You flatter me,” I said.

  “I doubt that very much. Goodbye, Fainne. Perhaps we can talk again, when next I visit Sevenwaters.”

  “I’d like that,” I said, and watched him go. I had managed, at least. Grandmother would probably have approved. So why had this interchange so disturbed me that my stomach seemed to tie itself in knots whenever I thought of it? I went through all I had said, and could find no error in it. But I kept seeing Darragh’s face as he watched me dancing at the fair, the face of a man who feels somehow betrayed. And all I could think of was how glad I was that Darragh could not see me now; that he would not know what I must do, and what I must become.

  Chapter Five

  The forest was like a cloak of darkness around the keep and its small settlement. As the year moved forward and the weather grew damp and chill, I found it hard to shake off the feeling of oppression, of being shut in a trap that would draw close around and smother me. The forest protects its own, Muirrin had said. It seemed to me the forest lived and breathed, and sensed an intruder in its midst with destruction in her heart. Grandmother had set things out for me with devastating simplicity. Make sure they don’t fight, she had said, or if they do, make sure they lose. To lose the battle was to lose the Islands. To lose the Islands was to bring ill on the forest, and on all the dwellers therein, whether of human world or Otherworld. It seemed to me the forest knew this, as a living being knows a great truth. Foolish thoughts, I said to myself briskly, as I added a log to the small fire in my room. After all, it was only trees. Trees can be cut down and burnt. Trees can be cleared to make room for crops or grazing. Stupid, to give those fears too much weight. And yet, in the lore, trees could not be underestimated. To Conor and his kind they were powerful symbols. To Muirrin and her family they were a sacred trust, to be protected at all costs. In its turn, the forest guarded all who dwelt at Sevenwaters.

  I stood by my window looking down, watching the rain driven sideways by the gale, seeing the leafless forms of great oak and beech shudder under the storm’s onslaught, yet stand firm together. It was nearly dark, and I had lit a candle, which struggled to remain alight there in the window. Its flickering golden glow touched Riona’s embroidered features to life, and turned her silken gown the shade of autumn rose. There was the strangest of feelings about this spot, close by the narrow window. I had felt it before: some power, some significance, as if a person had waited here endlessly, as if what they felt was so strong that the memory of it still lingered there in the cold air, before the flickering candle. The sense of it chilled me. I moved away to sit on the bed, and Riona’s eyes watched me.

  Fears, I told myself, too many fears. I must rid myself of them, so the task could unfold. If the forest was a threat, then I must confront it. I must answer the voices, and challenge the silent sentinels. Did not my task strike at the heart of the Fair Folk themselves? And yet I quailed at the prospect of walking alone under the oaks, lest I hear their voices. Without knowledge of those whom I must defeat, I could achieve nothing. Was I not a sorcerer’s daughter? Where was my courage?

  The weather cleared; stormy days gave way to crisp, frosty mornings and cool afternoons under a pale sun that gave no respite to the ache deep in the bones. The little girls stopped squabbling and went outside to play, not too far from the house. The last of the season’s work was completed, roofs repaired, wood stacked, winter supplies carefully stored away. In the yards, men with sword and spear and dagger rehearsed, endlessly, the lethal dances of war. More horses came in, and the stable lads were too busy to bother with a lady’s riding lessons. Sean seemed grim and preoccupied, striding about with the two great dogs padding silent behind him. Other men came, and consulted with him, and left. Supplies were brought in on carts and put away before anyone could get a look at their nature. Often Conor would be there with his nephew, checking things and offering grave advice. It was not so unusual for a druid to involve himself in a military campaign, especially when it touched on something so dear to his heart.

  For my grandmother had been right about the great venture planned for summer. It was indeed no less than the final onslaught on the Britons of Northwoods, the clan that had laid hold of the Islands sacred to the old faith, generations since. This was the summer when the Islands would be returned at last to their rightful guardians. Not owners; that term was not appropriate. The family were custodians only, of forest, lake, and Islands. This ancient trust had been laid on our
ancestor by the folk of the Túatha Dé Danann, when first he set foot in the forest of Sevenwaters. There had been a terrible neglect of that trust, and Northwoods had laid hold of the Islands. Over countless years, the feud for control of these specks of land far out in the sea had been waged, and sons of Erin and Britain alike had laid down their lives for the cause. This would be the last onslaught. Northwoods would be driven out, his forces shattered. The time was right; the child of the prophecy was among them, and a warrior fully fledged. With him to lead, and an array of allies such as had never before been mustered, the venture could not fail.

  All this I learned by listening and observation. The training my father had imparted had made me skillful at both. Indeed, there were times when I overheard rather more than I wished to; times when I wondered much about the history of this great family and the secrets which seemed woven into it. There was a day when I had fled the children’s chatter and taken myself off to a secluded corner of the garden to sit in silence on an old stone bench. The air was chill; I was well wrapped in my warm cloak. I held my grandmother’s amulet in my hand and tried to fix my mind on the task she had set me and how I might achieve it. Sometimes when I touched the small bronze triangle I saw her face in my mind, and heard the fierce whisper of her voice, Don’t forget, Fainne. Don’t forget your father. I remembered her punishments, and did not doubt her power. At times my spirit quailed at the impossibility of the quest which lay before me. The amulet helped in these moments of doubt. Its small form in my hand was always reassuring; while I held it I could believe myself capable of almost anything.

  That day I was sitting on my bench in the shadow of a tall winter-brown hedge, when I heard voices: my uncle Sean’s, and Conor’s. They were walking along a gravel path on the other side of the trimmed beeches, and they paused right behind me so I could not fail to hear their words. Just in case they should decide to come around the corner where they could see me, I used a little spell to blend myself more fully into the hedge-shade, to dapple my clothing to the colors of dry winter leaf and dark clutching twig. I listened.