Child of the Prophecy

by Juliet Marillier

  You’re nothing, I said to myself. It’s Liadan he wants. To him, all other women are the same. All you were to him was another virgin for the taking. You’re nothing. Beneath notice. What man would love a girl like you? Best stick to what you’re good at.

  I stared across the room at the cobwebs around the doorway. The big spider in the corner was poised above the main web, dark and still, waiting. I focused on her. She shivered and trembled, and there on the stone wall was a tiny, jewel-colored creature that was partway between a bee and a bird, clinging to the ungiving surface with little, claw-like feet. It looked quite uncomfortable there, as if it would sooner have been in some rainbow grove wreathed in exotic flowers. I willed the spider back in her place, and watched her scuttle away into hiding, doubtless somewhat shaken.

  I got up, the ability to be still quite gone for now, and poured myself a cup of water. As I bent over, jug in hand, something fell into the cup with a little plop. It was the bronze amulet from around my neck, the one Grandmother had given me. Wear this always. Never take it off, you understand? It will protect you. I fished it out of the cup and dried it on my skirt. The cord on which it had been strung was frayed through. I would have to find another. For now, I placed the small token carefully in the wooden chest I had brought with me from Sevenwaters, down at the bottom where it would be safe. One of the girls would have a bit of cord or ribbon which I could use.

  Perhaps the water had settled me. I felt clearer in the head. And the sun was coming through the clouds, outside my window. The room seemed lighter. I stretched, and went back to my place before the fire. I folded my hands in my lap and closed my eyes. This time, I would use the eye of the mind to picture my most secret place, the place of my heart. A little cave, almost underground, but not quite. The light a soft blue-gray, as if light and shadow were one in this small, mysterious space. The only sound the gentle washing of wavelets on a pure sandy beach not two strides long. A place where earth and sea and sky most wondrously and sweetly met and touched. My mind was quiet. My heart was steady. A kind of peace touched my spirit. Subtly, I began to move into that realm beyond thought, which is the realm of light.

  Some time later there was a tapping at the door, and voices again.

  “Fainne! Are you awake?”

  Clodagh, this time. She had changed her mind about disturbing me, then. But her words passed me without meaning. I remained still; I was too far away to be called back so easily.

  “Fainne!” The tone was insistent. And then there was another voice, a man’s.

  “I thought you were told to leave your cousin alone to rest today.”

  “Yes, Uncle, but—”

  “Didn’t your mother teach you to obey instructions?”

  A short silence. “Yes, Uncle Eamonn.”

  “She would not be pleased, then, that you have chosen to disregard them now you are away from home.”

  “Yes, but—”

  “You heard me, Clodagh. Your cousin is tired, unwell perhaps. We should respect her wishes. I brought her here to rest, not to be constantly bothered. Now find something useful to do with yourself. All of you.”

  There was a mutinous sort of pause. Then three, or maybe four, small voices muttered, “Yes, Uncle Eamonn,” and footsteps retreated, and there was silence. All of this I heard, yet remained still in my secret place, my safe haven. Somewhere, deep in my mind, the thought came to me, It’s time I took them home. Home to Sevenwaters. Home to the forest.

  By dusk I had completed my meditation, and come slowly back to here and now. I felt weary, but different. I felt I might sleep, and not dream evil dreams. My mind was calm. After fasting and silence, my body seemed somehow cleaner. I was a little closer to myself, the self of Kerry, the girl who had in recent times seemed almost lost to me. Perhaps, after all, she had been there all the time, that girl who could make decisions and see ahead, and know when to start and when to stop. Perhaps I had only needed silence to find her.

  I would not go down to supper. I wanted to hold on to this feeling. I wanted to let it strengthen in me, so I would have the courage to face it all again. Especially, so that I could go to Eamonn, and thank him politely for his hospitality, and tell him I wanted to take the girls home, straight away. There was nothing to be negotiated between us, I would say. It was over before it ever happened. A mistake on both our parts. A misunderstanding.

  I went to lie on my bed with a blanket over me, and I rehearsed this speech in my mind. It would be important to get it right. Eamonn was a powerful man for all his shortcomings, and I did not wish to offend him. But we must leave. It was clear to me now. I simply did not have it in me to do what Grandmother wanted. I was not what she thought me to be. I could not be like her. Even if she did as she threatened, and hurt my father, I still did not think I could do it. If the Old Ones were right, this was not just about the winning or losing of a battle. It went far beyond that. It was about the difference between a future, or no future at all. Surely such momentous events must unfold regardless of anything I might do. I was going to have to tell my grandmother this. I was going to have to refuse to do her will, and live with the consequences. Maybe I would ask Conor for advice. Maybe I would tell him the truth, and throw myself on his mercy.

  I was feeling drowsy. The fire glowed gold, the candle was steady on its shelf. The folk of the household would be sitting down to supper, the children in their own quarters, perhaps squabbling over whether they should have woken me or not, for whatever trivial reason it had been. The men and women in the warmth of the kitchen. The lord of the túath alone at his fine table. I willed myself not to feel sorry for him. His loneliness was of his own making. It was his choice.

  Warm and relaxed, I hovered on the verge of sleep. I wondered what the girls had wanted. They had not come back after Eamonn ordered them away. Probably some little drama, a cut finger or a lost kitten. There were plenty of folk to help them. I did not understand why they always came to me. Now I would sleep, and I would dream good dreams, of the sea and the sky, of old friends and times of innocence. In the morning I would start anew, as bravely as I could.

  “Fainne.”

  At first I refused to believe it. I squeezed my eyes tight shut, as if to deny the familiar voice I heard right there beside my bed in the firelight.

  “Fainne! Get up!”

  She was there. Not just her image in the glowing coals, not just the subtle whisper of her voice inside my mind, but my grandmother herself, here with me, inside my darkened and bolted chamber. Cold with shock, I turned my head and let my eyes verify what my quaking heart already knew for truth. There she stood, not two paces from me, in her old woman form, wild hair, tattered garments, claw-like fingers, baleful stare. Her voice was vibrant with anger.

  “Up! Out! Stand before me and account for yourself, girl!”

  I did as she bid me, shivering in my nightrobe. My feelings of peace and confidence had vanished the moment I recognized her voice.

  “H—how did you get here?” I whispered.

  “You think I cannot command the power of transportation?” she snapped. “You underestimate me, girl. You’ll never escape my observation. Don’t even think of tricking me that way. Where is the amulet? What have you done with it?”

  Sudden realization struck me like an icy chill. The amulet; a charm of protection, she had told me, and I, fool that I was, had believed her. The moment I had taken it off, I had become myself again. And now here she was, livid with fury, so brimful of destructive magic that her very fingertips crackled with it. I chose my words carefully. “The cord broke. I have laid the amulet away for safekeeping. In the morning I will find another cord, and wear it again. I have not forgotten what you bid me do.”

  “Show me.”

  I went to the wooden chest, unlocked it, and began methodically to lift out folded clothes, my hairbrush, other small items. My hands were shaking. Right at the bottom was the amulet, and as I put my fingers around it they encountered something else; a tiny object
long forgotten, left year after year unnoticed, perhaps awaiting this very touch. It was like a blow to the heart. You might forget, said a voice deep in my memory.

  “Well? Do you have it? Show me!”

  I held out my hand for her, the bronze amulet on the palm. She sniffed.

  “Very well. Tomorrow. Without fail. Remove this, and you put yourself and our great endeavor in extreme jeopardy. Remove it and you shed your last protection against these folk. And they are strong. Do you understand me, Fainne?”

  “Yes, Grandmother.” I understood well enough, if somewhat too late. If I did not wear her little charm, her little spell to keep me working her will, she would be quickly at my side and ready to punish both me and my father. This was no talisman of protection, but a mind-twister, a charm of control. No wonder I had felt, at times, that my thoughts were not my own. No wonder I had hated myself.

  “Now, Fainne. I wonder if you have forgotten why you are here.”

  “No, Grandmother. But—”

  “But?” The tone of menace in this single word near froze my will. I took a deep breath, and another, and I said to myself, Fire child. Find your strength, fire child.

  “I am no longer sure I can do as you wish, Grandmother. I have—I have—”

  At that moment I felt a spearing pain through my right temple, a pain that drove me to my knees and left me retching there on the floor with ill-tasting bile dribbling down my chin, for my stomach was empty from the day’s fasting.

  “I—I—”

  “What was it you wanted to say, Fainne?” she inquired sweetly.

  “I—at least hear me out. You can at least let me finish, before you punish me for my words.”

  “I can at least let you finish? Oh, dear. When will you realize I can do anything I wish? Anything, girl!”

  “Anything, except the practice of the higher magic?” I whispered. “Anything, except the restraint my father exercises? That is not quite anything.”

  “How dare you! How dare you defy me! How dare you answer back!”

  Another stab of pain, this time on the left side. I was crouched before her, my head in my hands, and the world spinning out of control before my tight-shut eyes.

  “It’s wrong.” My voice was like a little thread; but my father had taught me well. Through the agony that pierced my skull, still I found the words. “What you want. The forest. The Islands. You’ve got it wrong. The battle must be won, not lost. The Islands must be saved, not thrown away. Without that, none of us can survive. I cannot do this, Grandmother. Not for you, not for my father. Not for anyone.”

  “Get up.”

  I did not think my legs would support me. The pain was fading slowly, but my whole body ran with sweat, and my stomach churned. I struggled up to stand, swaying, before her.

  “Look at me, Fainne.”

  I forced myself to meet her gaze. Her eyes glowed darkly; she stared back as if to read the deepest secrets of my heart.

  “They told you this. You talked to them. Which was it? The lady with the blue cloak and the honeyed voice? The one that hovers on the verge of sight, elusive on the margin between light and dark? Was it the maiden all rippling locks and robes of froth and bubbles, or the flame-haired lord with his imperious manner and his little mind games? Who was it? You must not heed them. They are the enemies of our kind. Our quest is to thwart their long goal, not aid it.”

  “I think you are wrong. And I cannot do it. Find yourself another tool. Indeed, since you have such power that you can be here by my side in an instant, why do you not complete this task yourself? Beside you, I am nothing. You are displeased with me. You make that clear. Wreak your own act of destruction, if you will. Seek your own vengeance.”

  She glared at me balefully, brows arched in derision.

  “You’re a very silly girl at times, Fainne. There’s a right way for this to happen, and a wrong way. It must unfold. It must unfold according to the prophecy, to the very last. Why do you think I haven’t bid you kill their leaders or sell their secrets to the enemy? Why do you think I’ve left you to your own devices so long? I want you to insinuate yourself, to creep into their lives and into their hearts, child. I want them to trust you. I want them to love you. Then, at the very end, you turn. You turn, smiling, and strike the mortal blow. You’re made for this task, Fainne. It’s yours and yours alone.”

  “I won’t do it. Punish me all you will. I cannot continue to hurt the innocent, and abuse my craft, and blunder on heedless of the consequences. I could not do so even if the goal were one I believed in.”

  A charged silence. I stood breathing with all the control I could muster, wondering where the next bolt of agony would strike.

  “Haven’t you forgotten something?” asked my grandmother in silken tones. She pointed to the glowing embers of the fire. I turned. As I stared, the flames rose up of themselves, twisting and flickering to make an image. There was my father, alone in the workroom. Around him, instead of the neatly stacked shelves, the orderly ranks of bottles and jars, the carefully stored scrolls and manuscripts, there was a chaotic jumble, as if every scrap of paraphernalia he possessed, every talisman, every grimoire, every secret ingredient had been tossed together by some violent act of fate. He crouched on the floor in the center, straining to breathe, his chest heaving, his mouth gaping open in the fight for air. His clothing was in rags. He was like a skeleton, a fragile collection of bones that seemed held together only by the tight-stretched, pallid skin. He looked up and right at me with my grandmother’s intense dark eyes.

  I turned away, my heart pounding. I summoned all my will, but still my voice trembled.

  “I know my father,” I said. “This is terrible to see, if it is indeed a true vision. But my father seeks the path of light, even though it is barred to him. He would sooner suffer and die than see the innocent perish, and good things destroyed because I wanted to protect him. I know my father. I know him better than you do, for all he is your only son.”

  Then I felt the pain again, in my foot this time, twisting and burning, as if the very bones were gripped in an iron fist and squeezed tight. I let out a gasp of terror.

  “You’ve never liked this foot much, have you?” observed Grandmother in kindly tones. “You always wished you were more of a beauty. Who’d blame you? I can’t imagine why you don’t employ the Glamour more. Still, you’re here, in the house of a man of influence, and him still unwed. Quite a catch. Just think, Fainne. Once Sevenwaters is defeated this fellow can take all. All three holdings in one. Your son could inherit that. Ciarán’s grandson. One of our kind. He’d be the strongest landholder in all Ulster. And you’d be his mother. With power like that, who needs beauty?”

  There was another wrenching wave of agony through my foot, and I clenched my teeth tight, not to cry out aloud. The pain ceased.

  “There,” she said calmly. “Have a look at that.”

  I looked down, and felt the blood drain from my face. Where, before, had been my right foot, the one whose form was just a little different, a touch crooked, a trifle inward-curved, now there was a hideous paw like that of some monster in an old tale, a travesty of a foot with hairy, swollen skin, and bulbous toes tipped by twisted, yellow claws as thick as horn.

  “I could do more,” she said. “A great deal more. The hands. The face. The body itself. Step by step. Men’d be running away screaming. You’d never dare put your foot outside this door again. Still want to defy my bidding, do you?” She seated herself casually on the edge of the bed, smiling.

  I looked down at the monstrosity I wore in place of a foot. I summoned up a spell to change it back. I muttered the words.

  “Oh, no,” said Grandmother quietly. “It’s not as easy as that.” And before I could finish the incantation, the counterspell was already in place, and my hideous, hairy paw stayed as it was.

  “Very well,” I said as tears pooled behind my eyes. “Perhaps you might do your worst. Perhaps I might be turned into a monster. Then I would do as my m
other did, and end it. Slice my wrists. Step from the tower at Sevenwaters. Walk out into the lake, until the waters closed over my head. Then what?”

  “Wretched girl. Your father has a great deal to answer for. Here.” She snapped her fingers, and my foot returned to its former self. I sucked in my breath, and bit back the abject thank-you that sprang to my lips. I would not let her know how close I had come to giving in, when I saw what she could do to me.

  “Sit down, child. Put this blanket around you. It’s cold. Got some nice things in your chest there, I see. A few good gowns. That’s a relief. Can’t come courting a rich man looking like some tattered fishwife. And what a pretty little shawl, all over colors. Comes from a tinker’s market, does it?”

  “It’s nothing.” With a great effort I kept my face and voice impassive. I thought I knew where she was heading. “You can take it if you want,” I added. “It’s nothing to me.”

  “No? Still, it’s somewhat cheap and tawdry for my tastes, Fainne; the sort of trifle a traveling man might give to his sweetheart. I would hardly wear such a gaudy thing.”

  “Foolish of me to suggest it,” I said, getting up and starting to lay my belongings back in the chest.

  Behind me, my grandmother spoke again. “So, you will let your father suffer and die. You will allow yourself to become a monster. You care nothing for your own future. This surprises me, I must admit it. You are not quite the girl I thought you to be. But you will not defy me, Fainne.”