Child of the Prophecy

by Juliet Marillier

  I watched my cousin as the track became steep and dangerous. I kept my eyes on him as he led or followed or guided, and still his back was straight and proud, and his horse moved steadily onward. Johnny held his head high as if he were a hero from some old tale. The amulet was burning me. She was watching me, watching him. It came to me suddenly that I had been quite wrong. Not only had she already worked her charm, perhaps days ago, but she tightened it all the time, piercing, stabbing, grinding. It was not the lack of magic that made this malevolent thing invisible, but the sheer fortitude of the man who endured it. I rode along with jaw clenched and brow beaded with sweat; my hands shook as I held the reins. Give in to it, I willed him. Don’t be so strong. The sooner you give in, the sooner it stops. Around us the others rode on, quite unaware of the battle being played out in their midst. There were only three who knew anything was amiss: my cousin and I, and the sorceress whom nobody could see.

  We made camp again for the night. Johnny retired early. He did not eat. I glimpsed the gray pallor of his face, and noted the way he took care to avoid his mother’s scrutiny. In the night I awoke and heard the sound of retching out beyond the rocks, in the shadows, and I heard Liadan stir, but she did not wake. Soon after dawn we rode on, and the men rode by us, silent. The smell in the air was like home, sharp and salt. Gulls passed overhead screaming. I could hear the distant roar of the sea. But there was no enjoyment in these dear familiar things, not in this far place, with the whole length of Erin between me and my father. Not when I would never walk these cliffs with a friend by my side, and sit in the shelter of the stones in a silent companionship of total trust. Such things I would never have again. I did not deserve them; never had. The amulet was hurting me; I would bear its brand on the flesh of my breast. That was nothing beside what my cousin must be enduring. She watched; she was close. I could not help him, even though I knew the charm of reversal, even though I had it at my fingertips. I must not use it.

  The land opened up. The sky seemed to lighten and broaden as we moved steadily northward. There were few trees here; those that clung on in this windswept corner of the land nestled into gullies, or clustered in pockets of shelter beneath small hills. Two men rode off at a gallop, no doubt gone ahead to announce our arrival. The others were spread out along the track, still quiet. Our journey would be ended soon. Now, as we came up a rise and the first, distant view of a northern ocean came in sight beyond a pale line of cliffs, I heard her whisper inside my head. Tempting, isn’t it? she goaded me. You know how it eats at him; you recognize it. The boy’s strong; he’s one of those Fomhóire throwbacks, and a warrior besides, trained to endure. That’s his father’s doing. I underestimated him; we won’t make that mistake next time. And you’re nearly there; running out of opportunities. I’ll just take this one step further, I think. Close to the point where the body gives up in defeat, close to the moment when the heart flags and fails…so, so close…you know how it is, Fainne…

  I did know. Imagine some wild creature feasting on your living body as you lie there aware and helpless before its rapacious appetite. Imagine the pain as it flows into every corner of your body, every fiber of your being. I knew that was how it was for him. I waited, trembling as I watched him. My fingers shook with my effort to hold back the counter-spell; I made myself swallow the words that would free him. And at last there was a reaction. His mount trembled, and halted, and Johnny slid from the saddle to the hard ground of the track. I could hear his breathing; sharp, quick. Still he kept on his feet, where any other man would have been writhing on the ground, screaming and clutching his belly. Behind him my own horse had stopped still, shivering.

  I was incapable of speech. Was this enough for Grandmother? Why couldn’t Johnny fall, or scream, or give some acknowledgment of defeat, so she would stop it? I knew she could take this no further without risk of killing the man where he stood. What was he, Cú Chulainn reborn, that he could withstand such agony? Another of the men rode back, and a quiet exchange took place. Liadan was well behind us, out of sight.

  Now the other man dismounted and stood by the track, holding the reins of both horses. Behind his mask, Johnny was looking at me. He indicated with the smallest jerk of his head that I was to follow, and set off on a side track to the east, where a group of three ancient stones had been placed atop a slight rise. On them grew a crust of gray lichen, and I was reminded of that strange, rock-like creature which had spoken to me once of age-old trusts and future paths. I got down from my horse and left her with the others. Johnny walked, and I followed, and if my steps were unsteady, what with my limping foot and the uneven ground, his were more so. Still he walked, and spoke not a word, but I could hear in his breathing how he forced himself silent when everything in him was screaming pain. I wondered, then, that my grandmother did not simply screw this charm up to its fullest force, and kill the child of the prophecy once and for all. That would be easier, surely, then this cruel game of tests and trials. She had no need of me to quench Sevenwaters’ hope of victory. Already Johnny teetered on the brink of death, and without Johnny the battle could not be won. We halted in the shadow of the ancient stones, on the eastward side out of sight of the path where the others waited. My cousin peeled back his mask. I looked at him, and he looked at me, his face ashen, his eyes bright with pain and fierce with determination. There is something here she cannot defeat, I thought. Perhaps it’s raw courage, perhaps something more; a magic older and deeper than her own, a power that guards his steps, that guides him toward the destiny foretold for him. Johnny drew a shuddering breath, and at that moment the throbbing heat from the amulet dwindled and died, until it was simply a small triangle of metal on a cord around my neck. She was gone, and the spell still held him.

  “I don’t think,” said Johnny in a voice that was a very thread of pain, “that you understand quite what it is you’re dealing with here.” His hand, laid against the weathered stone to support him, was white-knuckled.

  I drew a deep breath. “What do you mean?” I asked him.

  “Tell me,” he managed, gasping for control, “how much longer? Not for myself; we are trained to endure. But I don’t want my mother worried.”

  I stared into his pallid, sweat-drenched face with its bold raven-pattern; a face whose look of raw courage did not seem to have faltered for an instant. He thought that I had done it. He thought I was the one responsible for this cruel torture. No wonder he had said nothing. And now Grandmother was gone, and she had not released him. With a muttered word and a slight movement of my hand, I reversed the charm. It was only then that his control was momentarily lost. He let out his breath all of a sudden, and slumped to the ground with his back against the stone and his eyes closed. As for me, I was instantly drained of energy and I sat down abruptly beside him. The sky was clear, the breeze fresh and clean; birds wheeled and cried high overhead. That seemed somehow all wrong, as if we were quite out of place. These things belonged in a time of long ago, a time of innocence, not here where all was danger and difficulty, hurt and fear.

  “Understand,” Johnny said after a while, not opening his eyes, “that I have a path to tread and a mission to accomplish, and nothing’s going to stop me. Nothing.” His voice was a ferocious whisper, daunting in its certainty. If I had ever doubted that this was the hero the prophecy spoke of, I doubted no longer.

  “I was not responsible for this,” I said shakily. “But I don’t expect you to believe me.” I could tell him no more than that. I had already failed my grandmother’s test; she had left me no choice but to intervene. I would not risk revealing the truth to him.

  “I see,” my cousin said in a tone which could have meant anything.

  “Why did you bring me with you?” I asked him bluntly.

  He opened his eyes and managed a very small grin. “I overruled my mother,” he said shakily. “She did not want you at Inis Eala. As to why, I cannot say, save that you seem to be in trouble, and in need of protection, and that that is something we do quite
well.”

  “And do you regret your decision now?”

  “No, cousin, I do not. My judgment seldom fails me.”

  “Some folk might think that extremely foolish,” I said cautiously.

  “Do you think it foolish, Fainne?”

  I would not risk answering aloud. But I shook my head, and offered him my hand as he got slowly to his feet.

  “You have great strength of will,” I said as we began to make our way back. He walked gingerly, as if testing each part of his body to be quite sure the pain was really gone.

  “I’m my father’s son,” said Johnny.

  And I my father’s daughter, my heart told me. So we returned to the track, and mounted our horses as if we had merely taken a stroll to stretch our legs, and we rode on to the northern shore of Ulster and to Inis Eala: Isle of the Swan.

  Chapter Twelve

  Had my mind not been otherwise occupied, I would have remembered that to get to an island one must go by boat, and that a boat must be on the sea, and that, even though I had grown up on the shores of Kerry, I was afraid of the sea. Only when we came to a small, heavily fortified settlement atop a tall, deeply indented cliff, and looked out to a low-lying island in the north, and I observed the considerable expanse of rough-looking water between us and this inhospitable place, did I feel the clutch of terror at my vitals. But there was no way I would let my cousin or my aunt or a single one of these stern young warriors know of my weakness. There was an anchorage in a bay. This too was very well guarded, by men mostly somewhat older than Johnny’s band, and all of them extremely odd-looking. These wore neither hoods nor masks nor any uniform raiment, but garments of great individuality, made with fox fur or rabbit pelt, with what seemed a serpent’s skin, with leather and silver and bronze all playing a part in their construction. The men themselves were as distinctive, with the same patterned skin as the younger warriors, but each with some extraordinary touch of his own: hair to the waist, maybe, bound back neat and tight; a semishaven head; a ring pierced through brow or nose; a collar of dark feathers. For all their flamboyant appearance, they behaved like professionals, doing their work quickly, quietly and with no fuss whatever. They treated Liadan like a queen. As for me, they afforded me great respect, with never a wink or a whistle or a comment out of place, for all Johnny’s talk of likely suitors. There was, however, a very close scrutiny, especially from a fellow whose name appeared to be Snake, a daunting-looking man of middle years, whose eyes narrowed in his hard-featured face as he helped me into a smallish and alarmingly rocking boat, and made sure I was seated squarely in the middle, out of harm’s way. The men rowed. The boat went up and down. I forced myself to keep my eyes open and my features calm as my stomach churned and beads of sweat broke out on my face. I clenched my hands tightly together and watched the island coming closer. I did not look back. I thought I made a convincing pretense of composure, until the fellow named Snake observed, glancing my way, “You’d want to watch out for the sea serpents. Just the sort of day for them, today.”

  I stared at him in horror, my heart thumping, and beyond him at the high crests of the waters and the dark, mysterious troughs between, where anything might be lurking. Then Liadan looked at me, and at him, and said briskly, “Shame on you, Snake, to tease the poor girl thus! You’re old enough to know better.”

  Snake grinned at her. “Nearly there,” he said in a different tone.

  Liadan gave a nod. Her eyes were fixed on the island now, and there was a bright anticipation there which gave her the look of a far younger woman.

  I’m not sure quite what I expected. At least, that her husband would be down to meet her at the jetty where we disembarked, though he had not come across the water. But while there were many men there to help us off the boat, and to carry our bundles up a steep set of steps cut in a low cliff above the anchorage, I could see no figure which seemed to match my expectations. There was a young man there much like Johnny, with the same charming smile and steady look. He greeted Liadan with a kiss on either cheek; her son, then, the one the girls had said fancied himself a warrior. He looked every bit of one to me, with his strong-jawed face and capable manner, not to speak of the large knife and throwing-axe at his belt. And there was a boy, though this one had a look of my uncle Sean about him, with pale skin and dark curling hair which fell in his eyes. That would be the youngest, Coll. There should be four altogether, but one was at Harrowfield. Where was their father? Liadan seemed unperturbed. Men crowded to greet her; there were smiles all around, but also a sort of deference that kept them always at a slight distance, as if they thought themselves unworthy to come too close. We climbed the steps; there were thrice nine of them. My legs ached. At the top there was a plateau, treeless in the main part, and a group of low buildings surrounded by a sturdy stone wall. In the distance the contours of the land rose and fell, and rocky outcrops, slick with spray, seemed to guard hidden hollows, secret beaches, caves maybe.

  “It’s a wild place,” said a quiet voice on my right. “But a good place, when you get to know it.”

  I looked around. The man who spoke had skin as dark as coal, and very white teeth, of which a couple were missing. He wore a feather in his braided hair.

  “Welcome to the island,” he said. “You’ll have met my son, maybe.”

  I stared for a moment, regained my composure and made a guess. “Evan? I—yes, I have.”

  He put out a hand in greeting and I took it, and felt immediately the disfigurement; his grip was very firm, but this hand bore surely no more than three fingers.

  “Come, then,” he said, “we’ll get you indoors, find you a bite to eat and a place to sleep. A rarity here on the island, young lady to visit. My name’s Gull; you’ll get to know us all in time.”

  Liadan had vanished; Johnny and his brothers had merged into the group of men who now headed off toward the longest of the stone buildings. Farther away I could see a few sheep grazing; smoke from a chimney; cloths flapping in the breeze. A cozy domestic scene, however remote the setting.

  “What sort of a place is this?” I ventured as I followed the man, Gull, indoors. “What do they do here?”

  He paused, staring at me with dark brows raised. “You came this far without asking? It’s a kind of school, lass. A school such as you’ll find nowhere else from Wessex to Orkney, from Munster to the far shores of Gaul. A school of battlecraft, you might call it. And more. And a great deal more. Now, you’ll want something to drink, and somewhere to rest. Biddy!”

  The building was mostly one long open space, furnished with great tables and benches. At one end there was a cooking area, and here a large, capable-looking woman with a sweet face was ladling soup into bowls for the men, each in his turn.

  “The young lady’s here,” Gull said to her. “Liadan’s niece Fainne.”

  So, they had known I was coming; my name, even. Johnny’s messengers were efficient.

  “My wife, Biddy,” Gull added. “She’ll look after you. Here, sit down, rest yourself.”

  But I was staring out beyond the kitchen entry, to a little patch of garden with a wall around it, a sheltered place where herbs or vegetables might be coaxed to grow in defiance of the salt spray. Through the doorway I could see my aunt Liadan, and a man who must be the Chief, for they were standing completely still with their arms wrapped around each other and their eyes closed, like young folk who had just discovered love for the first time. His hands were buried in the dark silken fall of her hair, which had escaped its neat bindings and flowed loose down her back. Her brow rested in the hollow of his neck. I was quite certain neither of them had the least awareness of a single thing but the closeness of that touch, the beating of heart on heart. I could not drag my eyes away, and it was not just the intricate, finely graven pattern that seemed to cover the body of this man all down one side which held my attention, startling as it was. I had never thought that men and women of five and thirty, or even older, might still possess such feelings for one another tha
t it drove all else from their minds. I had thought love a fantasy, a delusion of youth, like the passion which had destroyed my father and mother, or the blushes and downcast eyes of Muirrin and her young man, which surely could not last long after the advent of marriage and the loss of youthful comeliness in the cares of calling and family. So I stared, and knew in my heart that what I saw was as lovely and enduring as it was completely unexpected. It filled me with a strange, piercing sadness.

  “He’ll not greet her before other folk,” said Biddy softly. “Not him.” And she reached across and closed the door, so nobody else might disturb the two of them with prying eyes. I flushed with embarrassment. “It’s all right, lass,” she added kindly. “Now, a drop of ale? Some soup? And we’ll find you a bed somewhere. What can you turn your hand to? Mending? Cooking? There’s work for all here.”

  “I—well, they tell me I’m quite good at looking after children,” I said, clutching at straws. These folk seemed immensely capable, in the mold of Liadan and her sons. I dredged my memory for anything of any use at all. I could hardly tell her I might employ the craft to light her kitchen fire, or form stones into a fine new storehouse maybe. “I can read and write, a bit. And I can catch fish with a hand line.”

  “Really?” Biddy grinned. “Won’t be long before you find yourself a husband, with talents like those. I’ve two big sons myself, apart from Evan. Smiths, the both of them, fine strong fellows. I’ll wager there’ll be competition, with a pretty thing like you wandering among the sheep and the chickens. Now you’re blushing. Drink your ale, lass. You’re safe here. We’ve rules, and folk stick to them. The lads worship the ground Johnny walks on. Not one of them’d risk his place here on the island; not for the bonniest girl in the world.”