Child of the Prophecy

by Juliet Marillier

  They were beginning to test their skills on the sea, storms or no storms. There were no half-made ships in shelters now, but craft of many kinds hauled up on the narrow strip of beach or at anchor in the bay. We saw less and less of the menfolk; I learned that from now until the summer, none would visit Inis Eala to learn the crafts of war. All resources were for the campaign. All men worked for that purpose and each had his part to play in it. There were crossings to the mainland any day the sea allowed it, and much movement of men and supplies.

  Sometimes, when it wasn’t raining, Coll and I would sit on the clifftop above the bay and watch them. For him it made a welcome change from the discipline of writing, with which he struggled despite his quick intelligence. For me, it was good to be out-of-doors and feel the wind in my hair. Gull had left the responsibilities of the infirmary to Liadan, and now worked all day on the boats. His dark figure could be seen moving nimbly about the decks, and his voice came up to us on the wind, issuing curt orders. They appeared to be rehearsing a particular maneuver, out beyond the northern tip of the promontory where the tide flowed swift between rocky islets. The small curragh, rowed by six men, was held just beyond the clutching swirl of the current, oars used with great skill to keep it motionless there until an order was given, and they let the tide carry them through the gap and out into open water. Again and again they practiced that, incoming and outgoing, and once I saw men in the freezing water, swimming, and others hauling them up into the boat. Even at such a distance I identified Johnny.

  “Your brother’s a strong swimmer,” I observed, hugging my shawl around me against the wind.

  “So am I,” responded Coll immediately. “When I’m bigger I’ll be better than him. I’ll swim all the way to the mainland. Nobody’s ever done that.”

  I was reminded sharply of Eilis. Perhaps this sort of confidence ran in families.

  “Can you swim?” Coll asked.

  I shook my head. “I don’t like the water much.”

  “I’ll teach you, if you like. In the summer. If you want to.” I could tell from his tone that this was a gesture of extreme generosity.

  “Thank you,” I said gravely. “Maybe. I’m not sure it’s something I could learn.”

  “Everyone can learn,” Coll said. “It’s easy.”

  Like horse riding, I thought.

  “You’ll need to be able to swim if you’re going to live here,” he observed.

  “I shouldn’t think I am. Not after the summer.”

  “That’s not what Johnny said. He said you’d wed one of the lads, probably Corentin because he’s clever and speaks three languages, but maybe Gareth because he’s a nice, patient fellow, and that you’d stay here on the island. That’s what he said. But you don’t need to marry them if you don’t want to,” he added hastily, no doubt reading my bemused expression.

  I was saved from response by the unexpected arrival of the Chief, approaching us from the direction of the practice yard.

  “Coll! I’ve an errand for you, son. Go down to the jetty and wait for Gull to come in. Let him know his supplies have arrived at the settlement. He’ll want to send someone across with a bigger boat.”

  “Yes, Chief.” There was a look of pride on Coll’s face as he scampered away down the track, fleet-footed as a little goat. I made to get up and go, but the Chief stopped me, and then surprised me by sitting down on the rocks by my side, gazing out over the bay. There was silence for a while, a silence in which I realized he had sent Coll away for just this purpose.

  “Your men will be well prepared for the campaign,” I observed eventually. “Gull drills them hard in seamanship.”

  “Johnny’s men, not mine,” the Chief said mildly. “Harrowfield plays no part in this; it has always stood outside the feud. You’re right about Gull. His skills with small craft are unsurpassed.” His gray eyes were intent on that curragh poised on the flow between the smaller islands. “Each one of these men is the best at what he does.”

  “And yet, it seems astonishing that a man with such crippled hands can do so much. That must take remarkable strength of will.”

  “Indeed.”

  He sounded friendly enough. I thought I might venture another question.

  “How did he—how did Gull come by such an injury, to lose fingers from both hands?”

  The Chief’s tight mouth stretched in an unpleasant sort of smile. “A man named Eamonn sliced them off with a sharp knife,” he said quietly.

  I froze. “What?” I whispered.

  “It was done in an attempt to get information from me, rather than Gull. Eamonn wished to see us both beg for mercy before he finished us off. Liadan would not tell you this, and nor would Gull himself. My wife promised Eamonn her silence, and Gull has put these things behind him. But some promises, I think, are meant to be broken. It’s best that you know this. The man you thought to marry is a butcher, Fainne. His hands reek of blood and betrayal. The full tale will never be told, I think; few know it. You’re well away from him, and should stay away.”

  “But—” I was about to say, But he seems a good man, an honorable man. I was about to say, He is a respected chieftain, and your son’s ally. But I recalled what Eamonn had said about the Painted Man, and I remembered the light in his eyes as he realized I could give him his vengeance, and I held my tongue.

  “If your father wants a good marriage for you,” the Chief went on, still gazing down at the point, where men now slipped quietly over the side of the curragh into the icy water as others strained to hold it steady, “he need look no further than Inis Eala. I’d be surprised if Ciarán cared much for such trappings as wealth, respectability or great landholdings. He’d want a good man for you, a steady sort of man, and there are plenty to choose from here. You’ll have I offers. Not yet, of course; they’ve all been told, no dalliance of that kind until after the summer, and they obey the rules. But later, there’ll be the opportunity. And there’s work for you here. The community is lacking in scholars.”

  “You speak of my father as if you knew him,” I said in surprise.

  “I met him once. And your mother. A long time ago, well before you were born.”

  “W—would you tell me about it?”

  “Not all can be told. I was impressed by Ciarán. A young man of considerable strength; of depths I could only guess at. A man driven by strong passions, I think; love, anger, determination. We met under difficult circumstances.”

  “And my mother?”

  He thought for a little before he replied. His hand rested still on the rock beside him; the swirling, complex pattern flowed across his skin like an ancient, cryptic language. “Again, the circumstances were—unusual. She was not at all like her sister.”

  “You mean,” I said bitterly, “she was weak, stupid and selfish? That beauty was her only good quality?”

  The Chief turned his head toward me. His eyes were very grave; they seemed to read me without judgment. “Everyone has something unique to offer,” he said. “In some, that quality may be harder to find. I would never dismiss a man or woman thus, Fainne. Your mother was in severe distress when we undertook the task of bringing her to safety. She was indeed beautiful, a loveliness that is the stuff of tales. She was also confused, hurt and frightened, and the appearance of Gull and myself did little to reassure her. Niamh was not in our care long. Ciarán made sure of that. But I can tell you three things with complete truth. Your mother was a very courageous woman. One who goes doggedly on when frightened near out of her wits shows greater bravery than the warrior who charges into battle without thinking of the odds. She loved Ciarán deeply. There was a bond between them that endured, despite all. A bond as strong as—” He broke off.

  “As strong as that between Liadan and yourself?” I ventured softly.

  He gave a nod.

  “What was the third thing?” I asked.

  “This may distress you. We heard she killed herself. I am a sound judge of men, Fainne, and of women. I saw the look in your mot
her’s eyes when she began to realize that she was at last safe, and that Ciarán would come for her. It was not the look of a woman who would throw away the unexpected gift of a second chance. Whoever told you she took her own life, lied to you.”

  “My father believed it,” I said, my voice shaking. “How could he be wrong?”

  “This upsets you. I regret that. But you should consider the possibilities. Had such a death occurred in my own home, I should have investigated thoroughly. A fall from a cliff, unwitnessed, could be many things. Suicide, certainly. An accident. Or murder.”

  “Murder! How could that be? There was nobody there but the three of us, and I was only an infant. You’re not suggesting—”

  “Indeed, no. Your mother was Ciarán’s most priceless treasure. Still, you should be aware of my doubts. I do not believe she would ever willingly have left him; or that she would have abandoned you.”

  I sat quiet, staring out to sea as my head seemed to fill with the tears of an ancient grief.

  “There was a time,” the Chief said quietly, “when I swore I would never take this path, the way of family and community, for it has perils all its own. The ties of love are very strong. They bring a pain beyond any suffering of the body; dilemmas unsolvable save by anguish and loss.”

  “But you took it, all the same. The path.”

  He nodded. “And I do not regret it. But it is necessary, now, to avoid being paralyzed by fears. My sons speak highly of you, Fainne. They respect you.”

  I did not reply.

  “I rely on Johnny’s opinion. He believes you should be here with us.”

  “But?”

  “I cannot disregard Liadan’s misgivings. Her visions make her uneasy; she will not tell of them. I understand that, for the Sight does not always show true, and to act on its every message would set one adrift in a sea of terror. But what she sees gives her sleepless nights. I find it hard to believe she might be afraid of you; yet that is how it seems. So, despite my own opinions, I must make one thing plain. Who tries to hurt my wife, or my sons, is answerable to me.”

  “Her fears are unfounded.” As I spoke, I felt the weight of the amulet heavy around my neck.

  “Then why not tell her so?”

  “I don’t think she’d believe me,” I said in a small voice.

  It was close to Imbolc, the festival which heralds the first approach of spring, and I had been at Inis Eala long enough to learn folk’s names and to gain a little of their trust. I had also discovered Johnny did not make idle threats. One of the young men, still fresh to the island’s way of life, had made the mistake of trying to visit a girl by night, uninvited. I did not witness what took place between him and his leader, but I saw him leave the island under guard next day, his face ashen, his eyes betraying his anguish that such a foolish error had cost him his chance to be a part of this. It was the only way, Johnny told me. And there was no risk that such a man might tell of what he had seen. It was part of the training, to learn what fate might be expected if one were stupid enough to reveal secrets. The Painted Man had a long reach.

  After that the young men were very quiet for a day or two. Dark, handsome Corentin, who on occasion had brought me ale or spoken to me of life in his native Armorica, now gave me a wide berth. As for laughing Gareth, who was one of Johnny’s closest friends, he always abided by the rules. The most he ever did was glance at me shyly from time to time. Now even Gareth was somber. All of them knew such things must wait. Sam and Clem had plans for the autumn; one would wed Brenna, the fletcher, and the other Annie, the young cook. For folk such as these life might be hard at times, but at least it was straightforward.

  Aware of the unease in the camp, Johnny proposed a trip to the mainland to collect supplies. While we existed comfortably on fish and mutton and the cabbages, carrots and leeks from the walled garden, we could not grow grains on the island, nor did we run cattle, so it was necessary sometimes to bring in oats or barley, cheeses or butter. And there was a need for more specialized supplies. This time Brenna was going across to check and collect some equipment she had ordered, and so I was allowed to go too, it being more seemly for the two of us to travel together. It was interesting Johnny saw no need for a chaperone, such as Biddy or another of the older women. Deliberate, I thought; thus he shows these young men that, despite what has happened, he trusts them.

  The day was clear, the sea choppy. Brenna chattered away happily as the boat went up and down, and I clenched my teeth and kept my eyes on the far shore, and at length the voyage was over, until it should be time to come back again. Johnny’s choice of Gareth and Corentin to guard us was perhaps a little unkind. Both were heavily armed. Brenna unfastened the bundle which was waiting for her in the storage hut, and began a close inspection of the contents, muttering to herself. I watched Johnny and Godric and the others as they hefted various parcels and packages onto their shoulders and headed down to the boat. The settlement was busy today, carts of goods having come in but recently; armed men patrolled everywhere. Snake took no risks, and maintained a substantial force on this side of the water. There was no casual sailing across, and no unannounced entry to this fortified place. Brenna was taking her time. I went to sit on a bench outside, enjoying the clear day and wondering if maybe the air was just a little warmer. My thoughts drifted back to the island. Soon I must venture out and find myself a secret place to perfect the exercise of transformation, and sharpen my skills for the task ahead of me. Maybe tomorrow, or the next day.

  “Fainne?” I jumped at the sound of Johnny’s voice.

  “Is it time to go?” I asked, getting up.

  “Not quite. The lads’ll want a drop of ale first. There’s a fellow over yonder says he knows you.”

  “Fellow? What fellow? It must be a mistake. I know nobody.”

  Johnny grinned. “I have a feeling you’ll know this one. Quite persistent, he was.”

  A trickle of cold fear went all the way down my spine. I followed my cousin without a word to a place where a couple of old nags were tied up loosely, and empty carts stood in a row. And there, patting the nose of an ugly-looking bay mare, was a lanky sort of fellow with black hair to his shoulders, and a bit of a beard, and a gold ring in one ear.

  “Hello, Curly,” said Darragh.

  My heart gave a thud that was mostly horror and only the smallest part joy. If I could have summoned my wits, I might have told Johnny the man was a complete stranger, and to send him on his way. But I could not even find my voice; I stood there gaping. And suddenly Johnny was gone, and the hovering Corentin with him. I cursed my cousin’s tact.

  “You’re looking well,” said Darragh.

  I managed, at last, to speak. “What are you doing here? You shouldn’t be here! Where’s Aoife?”

  There was a pause.

  “Sold her, didn’t I?” he said.

  I couldn’t have heard right. Sold her, beautiful Aoife who was so much a part of him she seemed half-human herself? Aoife who was his luck?

  “Sold her?” I echoed. “You can’t have.”

  Darragh looked down at the ground. “A man doesn’t break an agreement to work, and travel halfway across Erin without some sort of wherewithal, Fainne. That was the bargain. I got my freedom; O’Flaherty got the mare. She’ll be well taken care of.”

  “But why?”

  Then there was silence. He looked at me and away again. I thought there was a new sorrow in his eyes, as if even he doubted the wisdom of his choice.

  “There’s nothing for you here,” I said in a fierce whisper, furious with him for coming, and with myself for the feelings which welled within me, feelings a sorcerer’s daughter had no time for, not when there were momentous deeds to be done. “You should not have come here. It’s dangerous. You must go home, Darragh. Now, straight away.”

  “Ah,” he said casually, but I could see his hand shaking as he stroked the horse’s long muzzle with gentle fingers. “I don’t think I’ll be doing that.”

  “You must!�
�� I hissed. “You can’t be here! It’ll ruin everything! You’ve got to leave at once! I can’t do it if you’re here—”

  “Do what, Curly?”

  “Do what I have to do. Please, Darragh, please, if you care anything for me, you’ll go now, quickly, before…before…” Before my grandmother sees you. I could not say it. “Well, now. It’s not so simple.”

  “Why not?” I glared at him. Darragh looked up and over my shoulder, and suddenly there they were, four of them, Johnny and Gareth, Godric and Corentin, bristling with weapons and ferocious of aspect. Every one of them wore the mark on his face; every one of them looked ready to kill. In this setting, Darragh was like—he was like a meadow lark among birds of prey, I thought. In quite the wrong place. Surely even he must see that.

  “Friend of yours?” inquired Johnny, with a smile which did not reach his eyes.

  “I do know the young man a little,” I said stiffly. “From long ago.”

  “Your name?” Johnny’s gaze was sharply assessing. I thought his behavior a little odd. Had he not spoken with Darragh already?

  “Darragh, son of Dan Walker, from Kerry.”

  “And what cause would you have to travel to these parts? I’m surprised you got so far.”

  Darragh glanced at me. “Looking for an old friend, you might call it. Helped a man with a horse, on the road; got a lift.”

  Johnny made no comment. He simply waited. Behind him Gareth shifted uneasily, and there was a little scrape of metal.

  “I heard,” said Darragh, “I heard you might be wanting men, in these parts. A campaign. I came to offer my services, if you’ll have me.”

  “What!” I exclaimed in shock before I could stop myself. Johnny’s companions made no attempt to conceal their amusement.

  “I see,” said Johnny politely. “And what skills do you have, which you think we might find useful?”

  “Nothing!” I snapped before Darragh could open his mouth to reply. My voice was less than steady. “Nothing at all! This man cannot fight, he does not know how to use a weapon, he’s never killed anyone in his life. He would be quite useless to you. I know him; take my word for it.”