Child of the Prophecy

by Juliet Marillier

  “It doesn’t matter,” Eamonn said dismissively. “This is over between us. Return to Sevenwaters if you wish, and take the children. Let all be as before. I have no future, Fainne. If I choose to spend my life pursuing a phantom, what concern is it of yours?”

  “None, perhaps,” I said quietly. “But I hate to see a good man go to waste. Besides, I said I could help you. I spoke the truth, and I will show you how. It was necessary, first, for me to explain about my father. He was raised as a druid. After he left the wise ones, he delved further into the realm of sorcery. When my mother died, he became my sole companion; and he taught me a great many things, as a master teaches an apprentice. This was what I meant when I spoke of skills.”

  “This is no longer of interest to me.”

  “You promised to hear me out.”

  Eamonn stood there stony-faced. I poured a goblet of wine and put it in his hand, and he drained it. I doubt he was even aware of what he did.

  “Imagine a set of scales,” I said evenly. “On one side hangs your chance to finish the Painted Man, once and for all. The certainty of vengeance, a knowledge that you hold his life between your fingers. On the other is a young woman; one who, on your own admission, makes your heart beat and your body stir. One who saves herself for you; saves herself fresh and untouched for your wedding night. Maybe she is not the one you love; but she will give you what Liadan never gave. She will give you her youth and bear you fine sons and lovely daughters, she will never so much as glance at another man, she will keep your house bright and your hearth warm, and welcome you with open arms when you return. You will never be bored by her; she will always surprise you anew. There’s only one problem. Her pedigree is somewhat flawed. You tell yourself you will not have her. You cast her aside. And so you lose both. The scales unbalance; you lose your future, and at the same time you throw away the chance to destroy your old foe and wipe out the injustices of the past. For to have one, you must take both.”

  “You speak like a druid. I don’t understand you.” His curiosity was awakened, despite himself. I had chosen my words with care.

  “To defeat this enemy, you need inside information. You need intelligence of where his weakness lies; information on his movements, identifying perhaps a time when he will be alone and unguarded, and at his most vulnerable. The two of you fight side by side next summer. There will be opportunities for you.”

  “But—”

  “Yes, there’s a problem. On one hand, an estate in distant Northumbria, in enemy territory, and well guarded. One could scarcely attempt that. On the other, an island fortress, remote and secret, with a network of protection so complete it seems almost Otherworldly in its construction. This man can be found there from time to time. But how can one penetrate such defenses? Not by sending in some warrior trained in the art of spying. This man will always have another, better than your own. No, you need something more. You need a spy who can go quite undetected, who will blend with the surroundings as if she is not there at all. A spy who can travel unseen to the most secret council, the most covert meeting. One who might even uncover the confidences of the bedchamber, if you wished to know them. This I can provide for you.”

  Now he was staring at me, both shocked and bemused. His cheeks were flushed; maybe it was the wine, but I thought I detected a new excitement there.

  “My father taught me some skills that are a little—unusual,” I said softly. “I will demonstrate for you. Call in your serving man; ask him to bring food, perhaps, or logs for the fire.”

  Without further question, Eamonn did as I instructed. The man came in and stood before us, a square-framed, youngish fellow with a hard sort of face and little eyes. My heart was thumping even as I summoned the craft, for I could see the image of that woman using her knife to slit open a fish that was her own daughter. I must make no errors this time. As Eamonn gave his servant quiet instructions, I spoke a spell under my breath, suppressing the temptation to change Eamonn himself into another form while I was at it, maybe a stoat. And as I spoke, the man’s form began to alter, his nose to lengthen, his skin to grow darkly hairy, his form to shrink before Eamonn’s fascinated, horrified gaze, and there in front of us was a fine black hound, panting a little, tongue hanging out, ears pricked up, tail wagging hopefully.

  “Good boy,” I said. “Sit.”

  Eamonn set his wine cup very carefully down on the table.

  “Can I believe what I see?” he breathed. “Is not this some trick of the light, that will vanish the instant we move? How did you do this?”

  “Here,” I said. “He’s real. Touch him. Then I’d better change him back, and send him on his way.”

  Gingerly Eamonn stretched out his hand, and the hound licked his fingers.

  “The Dagda save me!” whispered Eamonn. “What are you, a practitioner of the black arts? I’ve been a fool to listen to you. It was your grandmother who seduced and bewitched Lord Colum, and in doing so destroyed him. This is perilous, Fainne. You frighten me. And yet—” He broke off.

  I touched the dog’s head and murmured a word, and in a trice the serving man was back before us, blinking in confusion. A wave of relief ran through me; it had worked, I had done it safely this time.

  “Fetch more wine,” I told the man kindly enough. “And some wheaten bread, if there is any. Lord Eamonn is hungry.” When the man was gone, I said, “I’m no evil witch. My father is a sorcerer. He taught me. But we are not necromancers. We use our craft with wisdom and caution. Can you see how this might be employed to achieve the goal which has thus far eluded you?”

  “You’d better tell me, I think. Come, we should sit, and perhaps wait until he comes and goes again. Will he remember nothing?”

  “It depends. It depends on how the spell is cast. This man will think he had a slight dizziness, a momentary confusion, no more. Had I left him in his altered form for longer, it might have been different.”

  “You would—you would send a man, in the form of a creature, to gather information? He could do so, and bring it back to you?” He was eager now, his mind sifting possibilities.

  “No, Eamonn. I’ll explain it to you. And you will see why the image of the scales is apt. Ah, here is your man with our wine. Thank you.” I smiled as the fellow set down a tray with a fresh wine jug and a small loaf of soft bread.

  “That’s all for tonight.” Eamonn could not help staring, as if he expected the man to develop pointed ears or a wagging tail at any moment. “You can go to bed. The others too. Shut the door when you go out, and remind the household not to disturb us.”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  The man retreated, and Eamonn stooped to put another log on the fire. The room was dark enough, save for the flickering glow from the hearth, and the candles set here and there. Outside, the wind keened through the winter trees. Here before the fire there was a feeling of conspiracy, of secrets shared under cover of darkness. I took a mouthful of the wine, then set my cup down. Not too much. So far, this had gone my way. I could not afford to grow reckless.

  “I’ll explain it to you, Eamonn. I cannot turn a man to a dog, or a fly, or a bird, and send him to spy for you. In his creature form, he will not remember your instructions, and he cannot comprehend human speech. I could change you; I could make you a toad or a weasel. But you are the same kind as your servant; you, too, would lose your human consciousness until I brought you back. So, you see, that would be pointless.”

  “How, then, can this be done?”

  “An ordinary man or woman cannot change thus, and retain the knowledge of both forms, man and beast. To do so is the preserve of a seer. Or of a sorcerer.”

  “You mean—?”

  “I mean that if you want this done, you must trust me to do it for you. For I can change, to owl or salmon or deer, and I can go into my uncle’s house, or to the secret halls of Inis Eala, and listen. I can return and bring you the key to this man’s destruction. I have the skills, and will do it.”

  “You really mea
n this,” said Eamonn slowly. “It is true, and not some young girl’s wild fantasy.”

  “My grandmother turned six young men to swans, and came close to destroying the house of Sevenwaters,” I said grimly. “Do not believe that I am incapable of such a deed. It is your own resolve that might be questioned. For if this goes ahead, my uncle Sean’s campaign is doomed. Aunt Aisling is your sister, after all. Would you see Sevenwaters fail, and the Britons keep the Islands?”

  Eamonn gave a bitter smile. “We have the child of the prophecy, don’t we? Perhaps it may not fail.”

  “The son of the very man you seek to destroy? Is not he just such a wretch as his father, the man you think less than human?”

  “Oddly enough, the boy is a sound leader, much admired among the alliance. He is strong, skillful, wise beyond his years. I find it unthinkable that that man’s son will one day be master of Sevenwaters, that much is true. But a son does not choose his father.”

  “I see.” He had surprised me. Such was his hatred, I had assumed it would spill over onto everyone connected with the Painted Man. I wondered, again, just what sort of man this Johnny was, that they all had such faith in him. “You think, then, that if his father dies, he will lead the allies into battle?”

  Eamonn scowled. “In any event, he will lead. The prophecy makes that clear. As to his father’s role, that has been kept from me. Allies we may be, but Sean gives out only as much as suits him, and that riles me. I cannot judge whether the loss of the Painted Man will affect the campaign or not. Nor do I care, for I must confess to you the one far outweighs the other in my mind. I want you to show me, Fainne. Show me you can do as you say.” Now his voice was shaking with eagerness. “Show me you can change.”

  “Ah, no. I will not do that.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because it’s fraught with danger, Eamonn. It depletes the craft; afterward, one is drained and exhausted. Such high powers are not to be used lightly, as a mere demonstration. Believe me, I can do it, and when the time comes I will.”

  “I can scarce comprehend this,” he muttered, and I could see his mind was turning over the tantalizing possibilities I had held out before him. “With this, I can have him before the summer is over. I can know his very thoughts, be privy to his darkest secrets. With this, surely my quest cannot fail, and the man must perish at my own hand. Are you sure, Fainne? Are you certain you can do this for me?”

  “Oh, yes,” I said calmly. “There’s no doubt that I can. But there’s a price, Eamonn. You are not the only one with a vision and a goal.”

  “What price?” I could hear the excitement in his voice; at that moment I could have asked for almost anything.

  “I told you before,” I said. “The scales, the balance. You accept one side, you accept the other. If we are to be partners in this, then we are partners in all things. I perform your will, I gather the intelligence you seek. I share your hearth and your bed. You will find that there, too, I can work magic. I bear your children and you give me your name. I need that security. I need respectability, a home, a place where I can belong. Without that, I will not do it. For if you kill this ally, and my uncle’s campaign is lost, my only future lies with you.”

  There was a deathly silence, interrupted only by the small crackings and poppings of the fire and, outside, the hooting of an owl. I waited for him to tell me that he would not wed a woman with tainted blood, despite all. If he said that, I might not be able to retain control; to remain calm. Magical powers do not arm one against that kind of hurt.

  “Fainne?” he said quietly. He was looking into the flames, and I could not see his expression.

  “Yes?” Curse it, my voice had gone wobbly, as if I were about to weep. I had been foolish to have so much wine. Control was everything.

  “Come here. Come closer.”

  I got up and moved to kneel before him, so that the firelight would shine on my hair and warm my pale skin to a rosy glow. I looked into his eyes, schooling my expression to an innocent hope, fresh, guileless.

  “You swear that you are telling the truth? That you can do this and succeed?”

  “I swear it, Eamonn.” I toyed with the idea of casting just one more spell; like an opposite of the charm I had used on him in an awkward moment, up by the waterfall. But I saw the expression in his eyes and knew I needed no such aids. There was desire in his look, but it was more than that. It was the look of a man so eaten up by hatred that he would stop at nothing to get what he wanted; a look that told me, while his bodily lusts might need attending to from time to time, the only thing that really excited him was the thought of his enemy’s neck under his hands, and the sound of the last breath being slowly squeezed from his body.

  “Touch me, Fainne,” he whispered, and I heard the same excitement in his voice, edgy, dangerous. “Let me taste your lips; let me taste my vengeance there.”

  There was a very strong wish in me to spit in his face, for it seemed to me the man did not see me as a real woman at all, but merely some tool to be used toward his own dark purpose. Anger and self-disgust rose in me; I suppressed both. Control, said Grandmother’s voice. Don’t lose it now, at the end. Do as he bids you. You said you would be a good wife, didn’t you? Show him how good. Make him want you.

  “You did say—” I murmured.

  “Just a kiss, just one,” Eamonn said softly, and he took me into his arms and pressed his lips against my neck, and my cheek, and because there was no choice, I let him kiss me on the lips. That was the hardest moment of all; pretending to him that I was willing, winding my arms around his neck, opening my mouth so that he could probe deeper with his tongue, feeling his hands on my body and knowing all the time that there was no honesty at all about it. I was filled with a cold distaste even as I gasped with simulated pleasure and moved my body against his own. As for Eamonn, he wanted me, I could feel that, but I did not fool myself that my charms had anything at all to do with it. He had proved, tonight, that it was the thought of vengeance that brought him alive. Interesting, I thought as his hand began to move against my leg, to think what might come later. I could not imagine myself as this man’s wife. If it ever came to that, I had the tools to punish him for his arrogance. But it would never happen. Whatever occurred, there was no future for me after the summer. I had asked for marriage only to make my offer of magical help more convincing, for it was hardly plausible that I would make such a gesture out of the goodness of my heart. Perhaps, also, I had done it to salvage some sense of pride. His hands were wandering somewhat further than they might. Maybe he had misunderstood my meaning.

  “Eamonn…” I gasped. “You promised…”

  “Just once,” he muttered. “Just once, Fainne. You’ll enjoy it, I’ll make sure of that. Just tonight. Then I’ll wait…don’t say no to me…”

  He was quite strong; strong enough to deny me any chance of escape without using the craft, and I could hardly try that trick again. I did not wish to annoy him, for after all he had not yet said yes, not in so many words. Besides, I could not speak the words of a spell while he had his tongue in my mouth, and he seemed in no particular hurry to remove it.

  I heard the small sound before he did. It was no more than a creak, a rustle, as the door was opened and someone came to a sudden halt on the threshold. Eamonn withdrew his lips from mine and his hands from my body. He drew breath, ready to reprimand whatever serving man had dared to intrude where he had no business. He looked toward the doorway. There was a stunned silence.

  “I’ve come to take my daughters home.” The voice was my uncle Sean’s, and chilly as a dawn frost at Samhain. “And not a moment too soon, it appears.”

  I turned around slowly, feeling a hot blush rise to my cheeks, despite my efforts at control. My uncle was dressed in riding clothes, and the look in his eyes was as wintry as his voice.

  Behind me Eamonn took another careful breath, and I felt his hands as they settled on my shoulders in a gesture which, it seemed to me, indicated ownership.
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  “Sean. You surprised us,” he said with commendable smoothness. “Fainne has done me the honor of agreeing to become my wife.”

  If I had read shock and distaste on Sean’s face before, it was nothing to the way he looked now. He took two very deliberate steps into the room, without speaking, and the set of his mouth was very grim indeed. And then I winced with pain as Eamonn’s grip tightened convulsively on my shoulders, and his body froze.

  My uncle had not come alone. Behind him in the doorway stood a woman, previously masked from view, for she was a small, slight thing who came barely to Sean’s shoulder. For a moment I thought it was Muirrin; and then I looked again. This woman had the same dark curling hair as my cousin, fastened up neatly in a of plaits, with wayward tendrils escaping around her delicate features. She had the same fey green eyes and tiny, slender form. But Muirrin had not such a sweetly curving mouth, a mouth a man might think made for kissing. And Muirrin had no such air of authority, for this woman was considerably older, and as she stepped into the room, untying the fastenings of her hooded cloak, she seemed as formidable as my uncle himself, a woman who would command instant obedience from all, without even needing to ask. As an enemy she would be daunting. I had no doubt at all that this was my mother’s only sister, my aunt Liadan.

  “I—I—” Eamonn, who had handled my uncle’s unexpected appearance with surprising aplomb, seemed now completely lost for words.

  “A cold night for riding,” I observed, and I put one hand over Eamonn’s for a moment, then moved away from him as he relaxed his grip. “You’d welcome a goblet of wine, I expect?”

  “Thank you.” Liadan appeared to be capable of speech, if the two men were not. She moved forward, discarding her cloak on a bench to reveal a gown and overtunic of extremely plain cut, the one a dark gray, the other a lighter shade, with a hint of violet in it. For all the severity of her appearance, her voice was warm, and her wide green eyes surveyed me tranquilly enough. I poured the wine and passed her a goblet, keeping my hands steady.