Child of the Prophecy

by Juliet Marillier

He raised his brows. “Who told you that story?”

  I did not answer.

  “Secrets are safe here. All secrets. You were not told of me. So we scared one another. My name is Finbar.”

  “Mine is Fainne,” I said stiffly. “How can it be safe? Nowhere is I safe. Not while—”

  “Not while you wear what you wear around your neck?”

  I realized that, in my headlong flight, the amulet on its strange cord had broken from its concealment and now lay fully visible against the bodice of my gown. I put my hand up in a futile effort to hide it. The metal was quite cold.

  “A powerful charm,” Finbar observed. “If you have withstood its influence thus far, you are indeed your father’s daughter. I recognize this cord on which it hangs.”

  “You do?” The man was full of surprises.

  “Oh, yes. It was your mother’s, made for her by Liadan when Niamh was sent away. She who gave you this amulet most certainly did not give you the cord.”

  “No. I restrung it. And it seemed to me…”

  “Ah, yes.” Finbar nodded. “The one counteracts the other, as far as it can. You must thank the strong women of our family for this token of kinship, for it weaves a powerful protective spell, Fainne. Not a spell of sorcery, but something simpler and purer. Liadan worked into it the very fiber of all who dwelt at Sevenwaters. She tried to keep Niamh as safe as she could. Your mother was much loved, though you may doubt that.” I stared at him, unable to find words.

  “That is an amulet of malign and potent influence,” he said gravely. “But here in this place it cannot perform the task it was designed for. Why don’t you take it off?”

  I turned chill with fear. “No!” I whispered. “No! I cannot do that! We must not even speak of such things, lest—”

  “Lest she hear us? Look around you, Fainne. Liadan tells me your father raised you in a knowledge of the druid lore; an understanding of the pattern of all existences. Look around you with the eye of the spirit. This place is safe. Here, all secrets are guarded.”

  I could scarce bring myself to consider it might be true. He had terrified me by suggesting I might remove the amulet, here, with Darragh so close; didn’t he know Grandmother would come after me as soon as I slipped the cord over my neck? I stared into the dark pool, silent.

  “You fear to speak. Indeed, there is a great burden on you, one too heavy to bear; and yet you bear it stoically, Fainne. This strength you owe to your father’s teaching, I think. You need not speak; if you wish, simply remain here silent and rest until the morning. You have no reason to trust me. I understand that. Perhaps it will help if I tell you I know what it is to be alone; to be shut off from everyone else in the world, so there is not a soul who understands your dilemma; not a single friend to help you. When you are thus isolated it takes great strength to carry on. There were times when I would have given up. I had such hopes; such great and stirring dreams, before the lady Oonagh came and I was changed forever. I wanted to make the world right. I wanted to make tyrants just and miscreants honest. I wanted to put an end to cruelty and oppression. Those were the dreams of a boy your age, Fainne. Before I was twenty, the fire of those dreams was turned to cold ashes, and I became what you see before you: a thing neither man nor beast, a creature of the margins, with no place in the world of affairs. But I am still here. I did not take the way of the small, sharp knife, or the high cliff and the flight to oblivion.”

  “Why? Why not do so? Have you remained here because you seek vengeance for what she did to you?” His words both shocked and fascinated me, and I forgot to be cautious.

  “Vengeance?” He spoke the word as if he had forgotten what it meant. “I had not thought of that. If we had not the strength to act against her then, myself and Conor and all the others together, then we would hardly possess it now. It has been a long time. No doubt the sorceress has regained and reinforced those powers that were undone by my sister. I would not dare confront her. I could not face that a second time, and lose myself again.”

  His pale face was calm, but there was a deep fear behind the words which I recognized, for I had felt it myself, looking into my grandmother’s mulberry eyes.

  I nodded. “Then why have you carried on?” I asked him. “Why not end it, as you said?”

  “I would not take that path while my sister lived. To throw away the life she won for us would have been to spurn her sacrifice and her love. And after that, there was Johnny.”

  “Johnny?” I was taken aback. “What has he to do with this?”

  Finbar smiled. It seemed to me this was something he did so seldom he had almost forgotten the way of it; like speaking aloud. “He is the child of the prophecy, isn’t he? Such a one cannot grow up unguided. It is not simply the strengths of the body that he needs to develop. I have helped him all I can; though I fear not enough. Conor might have done more. Liadan made a safe place for me here. I cannot live as men do. I—I am not quite as I once was. You may know, as Ciarán’s daughter, how the mind of a wild creature differs from that of a man. I do not know how far your father’s teaching took you—?”

  “I have experienced what you mention,” I said tightly. “I know what you mean. There are—instincts, which call strongly. It can be difficult to disregard those, and keep a sense of oneself.”

  “You do know. Then you may begin to understand how it is for me. Since that time, since the sorceress changed us, I have kept within me a little of both, man and swan. I am never quite free of those fears: the frost, the hunter, the snapping jaws of the hound. That is why I live here and do not visit the settlement. Liadan has been wise, and treated me with kindness. You seem doubtful, child. Your aunt will learn in time what stuff you are made of.”

  “How can you know?” I asked him. “Have you seen that?”

  “No. But I believe it. I see you will not remove the witch’s charm you wear around your neck. Tell me what you believe its purpose to be.”

  I glanced around, lowered my voice. I put my hand over the amulet and felt again the cool hardness of the metal. “Are you sure it’s safe?” I whispered.

  “Quite sure, child.”

  “It is—it is so that she can see me,” I said in a little thread of a voice. “So that she can track me, and make sure I do what she tells me to do. She does not watch all the time; but if she chooses to see me and hear me, she can, as long as I wear this. It seems to get hotter when she is close, and when she is watching. And—” I hesitated. “And—I think there is another kind of control, as well. The only time I took it off, I became myself, as I once was. Able to see clear; able to remember that I could be good, and wise, and make sound judgments. While I wear it, it is all too easy to see the darkness in myself. Without this cord, without the charm of family, I don’t know how I could have kept going.”

  “Why do you not remove the thing straight away, since it does only harm?”

  “Because,” I said in a shaking voice, “the only time I did that, she was very angry, and she came after me, and punished me.”

  In the flickering light, it seemed to me Finbar’s pale face turned even whiter. There was no doubt he shared my own fear, and understood it. “Punished you how?”

  “First, by hurting me. Then, when she saw that didn’t work, by—by threatening those I loved. She—she made me do some very bad things. Things that can never be made right again. There’s only one person who knows that, apart from her and me. I have such terrible evil in me; I would never have believed that I could hurt the innocent, but I did. Three good folk have died because of me. And now, today, my little cousin Coll is sick, and I didn’t do it, but Liadan won’t believe me, and they’re going to send me away.”

  “I could tell her—”

  “No! No, you must not do that. They must not know the truth. You said it was safe—”

  “Do not distress yourself. I will not reveal what you want kept secret. Why would the sorceress wish harm to your cousin? The boy is only a child.”

  “To punish me,
” I said haltingly.

  “To punish you for what?”

  “For—for disobedience. For slowness. I have not acted directly against her will, not yet. But if she has cause to doubt my loyalty, she shows her power by—by threatening those I befriend. Thus she commands my actions. I have been very foolish. I allowed myself to get close to Coll, and to others. That only provides her with fresh ammunition. I was stupid. I should have learned by now.”

  “A most difficult lesson,” he said gravely. “Now, I wish to put a theory to you. I have no evidence for it, but I think it strong nonetheless. I believe this amulet has still another purpose. I will not ask you what task it is the sorceress wishes you to perform for her; I have some idea of what its nature might be, and I understand Liadan’s misgivings. If I were you, I would be applying my mind to the question of why the lady Oonagh needs so badly to be sure she has you under her control. And I would hazard a guess that this charm provides not just a window to your whereabouts, but a curb on your abilities. It is only thus that she can limit your strength: a strength which builds on Ciarán’s, and on her own, and on a whole line of folk, human, and Fair Folk, and Fomhóire alike. She uses this charm to weaken you, because she knows you have the ability to defeat her.”

  “What?”

  “It is only a theory. Still, think about it. You remove the amulet, and straight away you see your path clear; you are again yourself, Ciarán’s daughter, a child of Sevenwaters, strong and true. And she comes rushing back before you escape her control forever. She acts thus because she’s terrified of what you might do. Once she called me her old enemy, and I wondered what she meant. I think, now, she saw in my eyes, even as she changed me, the spark of my youthful ideals: justice, courage, integrity. Perhaps she sees her old enemy reborn in you. Most certainly she sees your strength, and plans to use it for her own gain. But she treads a perilous path, for you possess several things I never had: the wisdom of the druid, the craft of the sorcerer, and the blood of four races. Her behavior reveals that she knows this, and fears it above all.”

  I fingered the amulet in wonder, and felt my lips curve in a hesitant smile.

  “You really believe that? You’re not just saying it to make me feel better?”

  His laughter rang out in the silent vault of the cavern, startling me. He was instantly solemn again, “No, child. These are great and weighty things; desperate matters. It seems to me cruel that such a burden should rest on shoulders so fragile; but you have an inner strength. Johnny too is strong, in his way.” He sighed. “Liadan fears for the lad, and rightly. But it is not you she should fear; it is his own lack of readiness for the task he must undertake.”

  “He seems a fine man,” I offered hesitantly, not understanding. “A leader, wise beyond his years, brave and balanced. He has at least some understanding that he must do more than simply lead his army to victory. But—but he is sad about it, at the same time.”

  Finbar nodded.

  “Do you know what it is that he must do? Do you understand what the Fair Folk want?” I asked him. “I heard—I was told—there was a mention of a kind of sentry, a guardian. The Watcher in the Needle. It sounded odd at the time. But there is an island called the Needle. And—and they said the old ways would die. That the wisdom of the earth and the ocean and the ways of sun and moon would be lost forever, unless the watch was kept. Is this, in some way, what Johnny has to do?”

  Finbar was staring at me in amazement. “I see,” he said slowly, “that others besides the lady Oonagh have guided your steps. Who revealed these things to you? The Fair Folk themselves?”

  “No,” I said softly. “Smaller, older ones; creatures of earth and water; Fomhóire folk. They have watched over me since I had cause to help one of their kind, by use of the craft. But they have not come here.”

  “They are everywhere, I think,” Finbar said. “But they do not show themselves lightly. This is wondrous indeed.”

  “You have the Sight. Tell me. Liadan says she saw Johnny, and she saw me, at the end. What have you seen? What will happen to us?”

  But the man with the swan’s wing only shook his head. “I cannot tell you,” he said. “I think it is for you to determine the path of it; to make the vision.”

  “Bright and true,” I said softly.

  “You should rest,” Finbar said. “It is late, and cold. I have a blanket somewhere. In the morning your friend will come for you.”

  I hesitated. “It’s possible I may not come here again. They want to send me away. The Chief and Liadan. Even Johnny believed I had cast a spell over his brother, to make him sick. I—if I cannot speak with you again, I would rather not waste the time in sleeping. I wondered if—?”

  “Ask, child. If I can help you, I will.”

  “I need to regain my strength. To do what must be done, I have to—to employ a branch of the craft which is somewhat perilous to the user. I have done this only once before, and then I had help. Do you understand what I mean?”

  Finbar nodded. “It had occurred to me as unlikely Johnny would be persuaded to include you in his special forces. To be there, you will need to change. And change back, I think. Liadan’s vision was of a girl, not of a fish or a grasshopper.”

  “My cousin Sibeal told me to beware of cats. There will be a need to traverse both sea and land, to be close to men, but able to retreat quickly. I think this time it must be a bird.”

  “Perilous indeed. And draining. I have assisted with something of the kind at Sevenwaters. The young druids must experience metamorphoses as part of the discipline. But those are more of the mind than the body, and never unsupervised. This is of quite a different order. Ciarán had a gift for this.”

  “I know. He taught me. And he told me not to use it. But I have no other choice. There’s a difficulty, though. How do I regain my strength and my craft quickly enough to act, after I return to myself? Last time I was weak as a babe for all of three days, and had not a scrap of magic in me. If that happens again I cannot do what must be done.”

  “I imagine what Ciarán has taught you goes considerably beyond my own skills. Still, there are techniques which will aid you. Those you can learn. But not in one night, Fainne.”

  “Then may I return here to visit you?”

  “You will be more than welcome, child. But time is short.”

  I thought of the Chief’s grim-set mouth, and Liadan’s red eyes. “Maybe only tonight,” I said, “if they send me away.”

  “That is not what I meant. Still, we can make a start. What, do you think, is the core of your training? The essence of it?”

  “The lore.”

  “Then, as we have but one night, we will use it to focus on that. I am no druid; I have not these things by memory. But I can listen, and help you to rid your mind of what jumbles and confuses it. In the morning you will be stronger. After that, we shall see.”

  We sat cross-legged by the subterranean pool, and he quenched the lantern. As our eyes became accustomed to the deep darkness of the spring night, the tiny stars in the pool seemed to brighten and become clearer, jeweled echoes of their heavenly counterparts. The eye of the body fixed on those fine points of light. The eye of the mind moved upward and outward, to soar in the vaulted realm high above. My voice a whisper in the profound stillness of the cave, I began the litany of question and answer.

  Who were the first folk in the land of Erin?

  The Old Ones. The Fomhóire. People of the deep ocean, the wells and the lake beds. Folk of the sea and of the dark recesses of the earth.

  And who came after?

  The Fir Bolg. The bag men.

  And after them?

  Then came the Túatha Dé Danann, out of the west…

  One cannot tell all the lore in one night. Nineteen years in the forest, it takes, for a man or woman to become a druid; and many seasons for the memorizing of the ancient wisdom. I barely touched on it, though I went on steadily until the time just before dawn, when the sky begins to brighten and the first h
esitant chirrup floats out in the still air as birds commence their call to the sun. Finbar sat quiet and listened, and I felt a deep calm which seemed to spread itself from his mind to my own as if for a time the two of us were one. Though my lips told the ritual words, my thoughts were visited by images of the past, good things I had almost forgotten. There was my father, white-faced, black-cloaked, his hair the color of a midwinter fire, showing a tiny girl how to point her finger and make pebbles roll uphill. There were traveling folk on the road, bright-scarved, laughing, and a child hiding in the bushes watching and waiting. Maeve, smiling wanly as I tucked Riona in beside her and settled to tell a story. The sound of the pipes. Somewhere in it there was a lovely white pony, and a shawl with rainbow colors. And…and faintly, a tiny image of a woman, a frail young woman with huge blue eyes and honey-colored hair to her waist. She was sitting on the sand, and I was making the letters with my finger, and I looked up, and she said, Good, Fainne, and smiled at me. These images came and went as I continued my telling. I felt the warmth of them in my heart, and for a little while, I was not afraid.

  Outside it was dawn. I fell silent. Finbar rose, and filled the cup, and put it in my hand. I noted again how chill the water was; it gave the head a strange clarity.

  “Will you not drink?” I asked him.

  He shook his head. “I don’t seem to need those things anymore. Food, drink, a soft bed for the night. Strange, I suppose. I have become used to it.”

  I gaped. “What are you saying? That you have transcended the need for bodily support, and live by the spirit alone?”

  “Nothing so impressive, I’m afraid. I cannot say what this is; save that I cannot seem to live quite as one or the other, as man or bird. And yet I live. Her punishment was, in my case, very effective, and lifelong.”

  ’Tell me something.”

  He waited politely.

  “You were as frightened as I was when we first bumped into each other. I heard you. But you made up your mind to trust me, right away. I don’t understand that.”

  “Part of me is beset by fears, Fainne. I fear the howl of wild beasts; I fear the ice on the lake; I fear human touch. Your hand, in the darkness, would have been quite enough. But your face…”