Now Conor came forth, birch staff in hand, and began the slow pacing, the solemn words of a ritual of augury. A small plume of pungent smoke rose into the air: herbs of divination were being burned. I left Finbar’s shoulder and flew to the roof tree of the low building, a better vantage point. The druid cast the circle; he sought the blessing of the four quarters and expressed the respect of all for the power of the elements, and those deities to whom each pertained. Some of those present were not adherents to the old faith; I had seen crosses worn around necks, and observed a man who seemed to be a tonsured Father among the forces of the Uí Néill. Still, all were quite silent; all watched intently as Conor stepped to the center of the circle he had made, and brought out a little bag of soft kidskin, fastened with a golden cord. He took out the coelbrens, the slender sticks of pale birch wood with their carven Ogham signs, and, with an invocation to the goddess, strewed them before him on the raked earth. All eyes were on him; all but one man’s. Eamonn stood to the side, flanked by his green-clad guards. An odd little smile still played on his features; the smugly anticipatory look of a cat which holds the mouse alive but helpless in its claws. The crowd watched Conor as he bent, now, to study the fall of the rods of augury. But Eamonn was looking at me. I shifted uneasily on my perch, wondering how he could possibly know; how he could possibly guess. I reached down with my beak to preen my feathers nervously, stretching out a small wing, folding it back again as I had seen that ragged owl do. I tried to look as any other bird might, going about its business on a fair morning. Eamonn’s smile widened in apparent amusement; he gave a little nod of acknowledgment, never taking his eyes off me. I remembered the way he had been at Sevenwaters, always watching, silently observant, as if he were putting together the pieces of a puzzle in order to discover whatever might be to his advantage. I had thought he could not uncover this secret, but it seemed I had underestimated the man yet again.
The silence stretched out as Conor crouched by the scattered rods, unmoving. The augury should have been a simple one, for but a single answer was needed: to go now, or to wait. But the archdruid had turned very pale, and a frown creased his ageless brow. The men began to mutter among themselves. Why didn’t the fellow tell what he saw? Did the divination show ill tidings, that he did not stand, and speak?
Conor raised his head and looked at his brother. Finbar’s fear was almost palpable to me as he walked slowly across to stand by the druid, a straight, slight figure in his worn robe and tattered cloak, the sweep of snowy feathers by his side plain for all to see in the bright light of this spring morning. There were a few gasps of surprise, a few exclamations, quickly suppressed. I saw one man make the sign of the cross, furtively. Somewhere, a dog barked, and the man with the swan’s wing froze momentarily. I felt the trembling terror that ran through him as if it were my own; I, too, was part wild thing until the time should come to change. But Finbar could not change. Be strong, I thought. Be strong, as you once were.
Finbar moved again, squatting down by his brother’s side. The two men studied the pattern of the coelbrens closely. Neither spoke. Perhaps there was no need. The silence drew out again, and the assembled warriors began to shuffle in restless unease.
“Tell us.” It was Sean of Sevenwaters who broke the silence, speaking calmly from where he waited among his men. “What are the signs? Does the goddess smile on our venture?”
“Come on, man, out with it.” The war-leader of the Uí Néill, Christian as he might be, knew well enough that the timing was dependent on this, for those who led the campaign would not proceed unless the signs were favorable.
Conor stood upright, his features grave but calm. It seemed to me his mask of serenity was held in place by a strong effort of will; beneath it, there was some great misgiving. His white robe settled about him, its folds full of shadows even in the morning sunlight.
“I will tell true,” he said in a voice which seemed quiet, and yet somehow carried to every corner of that great assembly of men. “The signs are not all good. There is an obscurity here, some darkness that clouds the path of our endeavor, that conceals the full pattern of it. It is as if even the great powers of the Otherworld cannot be certain how this will unfold. And yet, the message of the augury is clear in one respect. We must move now, and not delay. By dawn tomorrow our fleet will touch the shores of the Islands, and before the sun sets the land will run red with the blood of those who dared to set foot on our sacred ground. We will drive them thence, or see them perish under arrow and blade; perish to the last man. This we swear by all that is true.”
There was a great roar of approval from the crowd; Conor’s words had been carefully chosen, I thought, for just such an effect. The reservation in his augury would be soon forgotten; the men scented victory, and now strained at the leash like hunting dogs. Maybe there was blood and death in it, but what brave young warrior of one and twenty thinks it will be his own? There was a light in their eyes, a spring in their steps as they made their way back to their various encampments, to ready weapons, to make the final adjustment to ship and sail and instruments of war. They did not see the pallor of Conor’s features, nor the shadow in his brother Finbar’s strange, clear eyes as the two of them stood talking quietly with Sean of Sevenwaters, and Johnny, and the Chief. They did not notice the grim set of Sean’s jaw, nor the fierce, frowning determination on the fair young features of the child of the prophecy. But I did; and I heard my grandmother’s voice as I sat there on the roof of the meeting house, a voice long silent, awake again within me as the amulet glowed warm against my breast. Good, Fainne. Good, child. All is in place. Do not fail me now, so near the end.
My heart lurched at the sound of it. I had been right; she watched me, she tracked me even in my bird-form. Conor had seen a darkness; I knew what that darkness was, and whence it came. My grandmother was part of it, and I was part of it, whether I wished it or not. A terrible fear ran through me, remembering how I had slept last night, sheltered in the warmth of Darragh’s hands. I must not go near him again; not from now until it was all over. Nor would I bring her close to Finbar, already so damaged by her cruelty. This day, and the night, I must spend quite alone.
There was not much in the way of trees. Low scrubby bushes, a few leafless apples. There were buildings half-hidden by folds of the land, or constructed deep, with a great turf-cloaked mound of earth covering them, secure from wind and frost. These offered no hiding place for a small bird to avoid wandering fox or tailless cat or the prying eyes of a chieftain with too much of an interest in solving puzzles. And there was Fiacha. I understood that he was somehow on my side, but still I feared his sharp beak, his clutching claws and his swiftness. Near Fiacha, perhaps I might have been safe from other predators. But my bird-self froze in terror at the glimpse of his dark form as he followed Johnny about the encampment, now before, now behind, keeping pace, keeping watch. I could not bring myself to go near.
I found a spot in the bushes close by the track leading down to the anchorage. It was not a place of concealment; I kept as still as I could, hoping to stay unnoticed. Curse the red crest. The charm I had used to change myself had said nothing of that; some malign power had done it, and made it all too easy for those who knew me to identify me. Even Darragh had known; Darragh who knew nothing of magic.
The day passed; the men went about their business, faces grim with concentration or bright with purpose. There was no fear of death in their eyes. They passed by me on the track and did not look at me. But once, as the warriors in green made their way down to the ships, which lay so gracefully there on the calm water, the chieftain of Sídhe Dubh and Glencarnagh halted on the pathway, and motioned his men to go ahead of him. He stood there with hand shading brow, as if inspecting the fleet, or the clouds, or the wide expanse of sea beyond the bay.
“Well, Fainne,” he said under his breath. “A strange meeting indeed. My men would think me crazed, that I hold a conversation with a wild creature. But I cannot let the opportunity pass us by. I i
magine you have waited here for just this purpose. I owe you the greatest of debts, my dear. The information you sent me has served me better than you could possibly have imagined. Tonight I have him at last; tomorrow the world is a better place for his demise. Oh, Fainne, what you have done for me is beyond price.”
His strange words made me shiver. The look on his face struck a deep fear into me. What information? I had not spied; I had sent him nothing. What could he mean?
“It will be easily explained,” he went on. “No finger can be pointed at me. The man was simply too old for such a venture. That is what folk will say in the morning. It will be dark and cold; the distance is long, the task taxing even for a young man at his peak. Better that he had sent another; still, he was ever a fellow who liked to be in the forefront of things. But by then it will be too late.” He smiled, and I saw the spark of madness in his dark eyes. I fancied I heard my grandmother’s voice. Oh, yes. Play on that.
“It is passing strange to see you in this form,” Eamonn said, glancing at me sideways, then back across the water. “And yet, not so strange maybe. Our partnership, I think, will be one of great advantage to us both. This form you have chosen is a vulnerable one, my dear. You must be cautious; I would not wish you to come to any harm. The anticipation of the marriage bed stirs my body even now. There is a whole new world of discovery there. Indeed, there is a new life ahead for the two of us.”
I shuffled nervously on the perch, longing for him to go away, not quite prepared to fly off myself, since I had nowhere else to go. His earlier words had unsettled me deeply; I struggled to make sense of them.
Other men appeared behind Eamonn on the path. It might not have bothered Finbar, or Darragh, to be seen talking solemnly to a small gray bird as if she could understand them. But Eamonn was too dignified to be caught in such foolishness.
“Farewell now,” he muttered. “Take care, my dear. I want you safe.” Then he was away down the track, and the others after him.
He knew, then. He knew of the swim, and the terrible risk that would be taken, tonight, by five men, to ensure the Britons would be crippled before ever the fleet of the allies touched the shore of the Islands. He knew, and planned to strike when the Chief was at his most vulnerable. But how had he learned this secret? Why had he thanked me for this knowledge? I had told him nothing. I had told nobody what I knew; nobody except…except my grandmother. I remembered, suddenly, how I had spoken to her of the swim, because it had been necessary to convince her I still followed her orders and worked to her purpose. Somehow she had ensured Eamonn found out; had done it in a way that made him believe the information came from me. It would be easy enough; some sort of unsigned message; a whisper in the darkness, almost like a dream. A safeguard, she’d said. I’ll need a safeguard. And when none was forthcoming she had made her own, just in case I did not perform, at the last. She did not trust me; she probably never had.
My heart was beating fast, my body chill. I must warn them. There was little time, the day was passing quickly, and I did not know how soon the small curragh must set sail for the swimmers to reach the British anchorage and return to safety before dawn. I must tell them there was a traitor in their midst who put his own crazy quest for vengeance before the balance of a great campaign. But how? How could I tell them? I was a dove; I had no human speech, and I could not make myself a girl again, not yet. It was tomorrow’s battle that would decide the final unfolding of things; and to be there I must remain in this form, so I could fly to follow them, and be strong. Change back, and my uncle Sean would bundle me off home to Erin and safety, no matter what I told him. If that happened I could not do as I must, and prevent the lady Oonagh from performing her dreadful work of destruction. That was my task and mine alone. And in the long term, that mattered more than anything.
How could I warn them? I did not know what Eamonn intended. He could hardly mean to join the group himself. I could imagine what the Chief would have to say about that. What did he plan? Perhaps I could follow, and listen. Still, I would be powerless, for I had neither words to use nor the voice of the mind. And there were only two who knew my identity, save Eamonn himself. Finbar, and Darragh. I could not approach either; I would not draw to either my grandmother’s interest, for to do so was to put them at grave risk, and to provide her with powerful weapons against me.
I flew back to the main encampment, itching with frustration that I could not be myself again. I perched in a tree; on a rope suspending a shelter; on a post in the open. Men worked quietly, or rested in preparation for long effort without sleep. Prayers were spoken, of one persuasion or another. Sean sat with Eamonn and the warleaders of the Uí Néill, and looked at charts. Eamonn’s pale features were calm and serious; his eye revealed no light of madness now. He was like any other chieftain who plans a foray with his long-term allies: he looked, in a word, trustworthy.
Johnny was engaged in more active pursuits. I saw him leave the sheltered area with three other men, those who were to swim with him tonight: Sigurd, and Gareth, and Darragh. They slipped away quietly, perhaps for some final rehearsal of the night’s risky maneuver. Some time later, I discovered the Chief down at the cove with Snake and Gull by his side, checking the small curragh with the dark sails; in this vessel they had moved to and fro between the islets back at Inis Eala, balancing the craft like some great skillful seabird on the swift ebb and flow of the tide. I flew down through the salt touch of splashing wavelets to alight as neatly as I could on the stern of the curragh; but once I was there, I could think of no way to convey to them any message at all. A dove could not make pictures in the sand, or cast the coelbrens to mark out disaster. A dove could do no more than flutter its wings anxiously, and make small, worried chirrups.
“Bird seems bothered,” Snake observed with a half-smile as he adjusted a rope tighter. “Hopping around like some chicken that knows it’s next for the pot.”
“Came over from Ulster on the boats, that’s what I heard,” said Gull. “Maybe it’s an omen.”
“Good luck, I hope,” Snake said. “Creature’s quite agitated; almost as if it were trying to tell us something. Aren’t they normally timid little things?”
“We need no luck, nor any omens.” The Chief’s patterned features were solemn, his gray eyes clear and purposeful, his son’s eyes. The sunlight shone bright on the fair, unmarked side of his face, and for a moment it could almost have been Johnny standing there. “Skill, and planning, and good preparation will ensure success here, as they have done in all our past ventures. Disregard the bird; perhaps it is lost, blown off course by the west wind. Our own strength will suffice, with no need for auguries and portents.”
“Still,” said Gull, glancing at me again. But he took it no further, and I could see there was no way for me to tell them what I knew. Then, suddenly, Gareth was coming down the track to the anchorage, his amiable features tense with strain, his face white. The Chief straightened slowly from where he bent to adjust the ropes.
“Well?” he demanded. “What is it?”
“Sigurd’s taken sick. The flux; a bad dose of it. Came on all of a sudden. He’s not going to be able to swim.”
The Chief’s hard mouth tightened further. “Gull? Can he be doctored with something? Have you a potion for this?”
“How severe is it?” Gull was leaving his task, ready to hasten up to the encampment, dark features creased in a frown.
“Bad. Purging and retching as if he’d taken poison. You’d have to work a miracle to have him ready in time.”
I felt my insides knot with fear. Poison. There were only five swimmers, and one of them was Darragh.
“What about the backup?” the Chief asked quietly. Like the seasoned campaigner he was, he did not panic, but assessed the possibilities swiftly and calmly.
“Mikka? Not up to it, Chief. Slit his hand this morning in a practice bout; hasn’t the full use of it yet. He’ll do well enough tomorrow in the battle, but he can’t do this. Johnny says he won’t risk
him.”
Snake muttered an oath under his breath.
“Have we no men here but invalids?” the Chief asked softly. “Are we undone so easily? I cannot believe this.”
“Cormack says he can do it if you’ll give him the chance,” ventured Gareth with some hesitation. “He hasn’t swum the distance before, but he’s strong, and he says he can manage it.”
“I think not.” There was a finality in the Chief’s tone that closed off any thought of argument. “I may risk one son in this venture, but not two. Cormack is too young, and untried. He will take his place with pride tomorrow among the men; but he will not be part of this. We must find another, for there must be five, one for each vessel. As it is the venture is risky; with less than five, it becomes simply foolhardy. No man would wish to be discovered there close by the Briton’s ships, with a mask over his face and a neat iron spike in his hand. With five, we strike together and retreat together.”
Gareth nodded, his blunt features serious. “Johnny’s asking, discreetly,” he said. “There may be one among the Uí Néill, or among Lord Eamonn’s men, who could attempt this.”
Bran spat, efficiently, at the side of the path. “One of the Uí Néill, maybe; or the Norsemen,” he said. “I’ll trust none of the men in green.”
That was how it came to pass that five men sailed south into the dusk on their covert mission, and that one of them was an assassin. That was how it came to be that I saw them go, and could not do a thing to stop it. There was indeed a man of the Uí Néill who was a strong swimmer; his fellow warriors backed up his claims, and spoke highly of his strength and endurance. He had fair hair plaited down his back, and an irregularity of build, so that one shoulder was higher than the other. It did not impede him in the water, they said. Johnny tested him in the chill embrace of the sea, out beyond the bay, and pronounced himself satisfied. The Chief was less than happy; still, there was no choice but to accept the fellow. They could not wait for Sigurd to recover. He was reduced to a shivering, sweating wreck, unable to keep so much as a drop of water in his stomach. He would not be ready tomorrow, or the next day, or the day after. And the druid had said the time was now.
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