Heir to Sevenwaters

by Juliet Marillier

  Before dawn he woke me with another brew, this time wild onions in hot water, and while I ate, then fed the baby, he covered the remnants of the fire with earth and packed up our things with a warrior’s efficiency. I went briefly into the woods to relieve myself. When I returned he was squatting down beside the changeling, examining him closely without touching.

  “Becan, did you say?”

  “It’s as good a name as any. It didn’t seem right not to give him one. It was bad enough that everyone dismissed him as just a . . . thing.” I was surprised that he had remembered the name; I must have mentioned it once or twice at most.

  Cathal gave me his quizzical look. “You don’t think this is taking family loyalty to too much of an extreme?” he asked.

  “I’m doing what seems the right thing, that’s all.” I found his scrutiny unnerving, and looked away as I unfastened the cloak. I made myself say what was necessary. “You’d better take this back. I think you should leave us, Cathal. I had hoped you might turn yourself in and offer my father some explanations. Perhaps you don’t realize how much trouble you caused by leaving so abruptly. If you won’t go back and account for yourself, you could at least offer me some explanation. You dismissed that as unimportant. It’s important to me.”

  Cathal shrugged, saying nothing at all.

  “Well then,” I said, disappointed even though this was more or less what I had expected, “you’d best get off Father’s land as quickly as you can.”

  “You don’t want my help?” he asked, and his dark eyes were still fixed on me, assessing.

  I did want it. I didn’t believe for a moment that he knew how to get into the Otherworld, but I shrank from the prospect of another day of wandering, another night in the open, this time without fire or the warmth of the cloak or companionship to stave off the myriad troubles that crowded my mind. “I think it’s best if you go,” I said.

  “Best for whom?”

  I could have lied, but I didn’t. “For you,” I told him. “Maybe you think you can find a portal, but in the stories people don’t do it easily. Usually these ways only open when the Fair Folk have reasons for wanting someone to go in. Sometimes people need a charm or token to let them pass one way or the other. Or they have to chance on something, a mushroom circle for instance.”

  “There isn’t time to argue the point,” Cathal said. “I know Aidan and he knows me. He almost caught me yesterday. He and his men will have camped up here somewhere overnight. They’ll be out again as soon as they’ve had a hasty bite to eat. In other words, they’ll be in the forest when we are. Aidan may not want to be the one who apprehends me, but he’s Johnny’s man. If Johnny’s given him an order he’ll execute it efficiently even if it breaks his heart. For all sorts of reasons, I don’t want him to do it. That means we have to move quickly.”

  “Didn’t you hear me?” I was startled that it was not the fear of being captured that troubled him, but the fact that his friend would have to take him in. “I said go. On your own, now, while you still have time to get away.” I thought perhaps I could hear dogs in the distance. So early. By midday I could be back at the keep and facing my father’s excoriating questions. I could be seeing the sorrow and disappointment in his eyes; I could be looking at the pathetic, sunken remnant of a woman that was all that was left of my mother.

  “I know you don’t think much of me,” Cathal said, flinging the cloak on. He hitched his pack onto his back and picked up mine. “Believe me, when you’re being as pig-headed as this the feeling is mutual. Listen, now, and don’t interrupt. Here are three reasons to trust me. One, I told you about the attack on Glencarnagh in a genuine attempt to warn you. That it was ineffective is not my fault. Two, I recognized that unprepossessing infant for what it was and I heard its wretched voice. I believed you when nobody else would. Three, I’m here, I’m willing to help, I have certain physical skills that could come in handy for protecting you and the child while you get to where you’re going. And I do know how to find a portal.”

  “That’s more like six,” I said, wondering what it was that was making him put himself out to help me. Not altruism, that was certain; not a misguided desire to win my affections, despite that kiss. There was nothing soft in his expression. All I could see in it was impatience to be off. “Are you saying that you’ll not only find this portal, but actually come with me when I go through it?” How could I accept such a mad offer? It would be risky enough to walk across that perilous margin myself. It would be beyond all sense to take someone else with me, someone who had no part at all in this particular mission. And yet, a profound relief had washed through me as he spoke of protection. If I ever got to the Otherworld all manner of dangers would face me. A warrior who could fight as Cathal had that day in the courtyard might be the best companion I could have.

  “That’s what I’m saying, Clodagh. Make up your mind quickly.”

  “Why? Why would you do such a thing?”

  Cathal sighed, rolling his eyes. “I imagine even Johnny would find me hard to track down in the Otherworld,” he said dryly. “Is that a good enough reason for you?”

  “I don’t know,” I said, wanting to say yes, sure I should say no.

  “Can we start walking, at least? Or do you plan to stand here arguing the point until Aidan’s hounds come running up and sink their teeth into us?”

  “All right. Take me to wherever you think the portal is. Let’s put that to the test and worry about the other part later.” I had fastened Becan into the sling. I reached out for my bag, but Cathal put it under his arm.

  “I’ll carry this; you’ve got him to manage. Ready?”

  “No. But I’m going anyway.”

  He gave a lopsided smile. “Come on, then. I have a feeling it won’t be far.”

  I followed Cathal in a direction I judged to be roughly north-west. We did not go by visible tracks, but took a dodging, swerving, zigzagging course between the rocks and trees. Cathal moved as if he knew where he was going. I suspected his apparent confidence had more to do with maintaining a semblance of control than anything else. No outsider knew the way through the Sevenwaters forest. They couldn’t. For them, the way never stayed the same. Silently, I prayed that the Fair Folk would reveal a portal to us sooner rather than later.

  From time to time I heard the dogs somewhere behind us, not getting much closer, but not moving away either, and I wondered if Aidan was using the same techniques as Cathal for finding a path across the difficult terrain in this part of the woods. There were deceptive slopes that proved far steeper than they looked; rocks that jutted out in just the wrong places to provide secure purchase for hand or foot; sudden patches of sucking bog hidden beneath dark mats of last autumn’s decaying leaf litter. We crossed a stream on a narrow log, Cathal taking the two packs over then returning with sure-footed confidence to grasp my hand and guide me across. I remembered him balancing along a dry-stone wall with Eilis and Coll. Eilis . . . I had not seen my little sister since Finbar was taken.

  “What?” asked Cathal, scrutinizing my face as I stepped down to safety on the far bank.

  “Nothing. Are we getting any closer?”

  “I’m heading for the river. It can’t be far from here.”

  My heart sank. “What river? There is no river, only the seven streams. The outflow from the lake is at the eastward end, far from here.” I remembered what Sibeal had said about the meeting of earth and water, and how doors to the Otherworld would likely be found where this occurred. A moment later I recalled something else she had said: that I would not be undertaking my quest alone.

  “No river,” said Cathal flatly. “I was certain . . . Never mind. I think it’s this way.”

  My memory of Sibeal’s words stopped me from questioning his judgment, and we moved off again, down a hill through a grove of young birches, our feet sliding on the muddy incline. It began to rain. The narrow trunks of the trees were useful for slowing our dangerous progress, but their delicate foliage provided little
cover from the weather. My hood refused to stay up over my head. The sling protected Becan for now, but it would soon be wet through. I could hear the dogs, and they sounded closer.

  Near the foot of the slope I lost my balance and came down heavily on my hip. Becan squalled in fright. Tears sprang to my eyes.

  “Quick, Clodagh!” Cathal spoke with a new note of urgency. He seized my hand and hauled me to my feet. “Can you hear it?”

  Up the hill behind us someone shouted. I glanced back, but said nothing.

  “Not them, the river. We’re nearly there. Run!”

  I could hear no river. There was no river, not on Sevenwaters land. But I ran, my body protesting at every step. The shouting came again, Aidan’s voice urging the others on and the dogs clamoring. My hand was still in Cathal’s. Rather than fall headlong I forced myself to keep up with him. Becan maintained a screaming protest, making my belly clench tight in sympathy. We raced along a narrow way under an arch of bigger trees, their pale trunks flashing by, the rain drizzling and dripping from every leaf to drench our clothing and our hair. Cathal swept his dark locks back from his face with an impatient hand. The pace never slackened.

  We pelted out from the birch wood and into a curtain of rain. Suddenly there was no seeing the way. Water before, behind, on either side, a silver-gray veil obscuring rock, tree, path, everything but the little patch of ground at our feet. We slowed; to run on was to invite disaster. Cathal’s grip tightened on my hand.

  “Cathal!” Aidan’s voice, somewhere within the downpour. “Don’t make me set the dogs on you, you fool! Give yourself up, I know you’re down there!”

  “Good sign,” murmured Cathal, moving forward into the rain and pulling me after him. “He hasn’t let the dogs off yet. What are you doing, Clodagh, move!”

  I moved, the alternative being to relinquish his hand and wait until the dogs arrived. The ground sloped down again, sharply. We could have been walking into anything at all. Three times, as we descended, Cathal had to brace himself and grab me by the arms to stop me from falling. I could feel Becan’s cries vibrating through his small body. And then, above his wailing, above the drumming of the rain, I heard something else: a surging, rolling, washing music, the sound of a great body of flowing water. The veils of rain parted oddly and there before me, in as many shades of gray as there are stars in the sky, was the river.

  This was not one of the seven streams. Even when swollen by the rains of an unusually wet winter, the largest of those waterways would have been dwarfed by this. Its channel was as wide as a substantial grazing field, its surface eerily smooth, its flow quick; scraps of leaf or bark, borne crazily down, turned and twisted and passed like small eccentric racers. It looked deep. It looked cold. On its other side was a landscape unlike anything I had ever seen in the forest of Sevenwaters. The trees were massive, their trunks and branches knotted and gnarled and old. They were of no kind I recognized. A profound shade lay over them, and within that cloak of darkness it seemed to me no bird would have the courage to sing, no creature the heart to venture forth in search of nourishment. I saw no bridge, and was glad of it, for my heart quailed at the thought of setting foot on that far shore. Such a river did not exist on my father’s territory. And yet, here it was.

  “Cathal!”

  I started in fright; Aidan’s voice came from close behind me. I made to turn and look back, and under his breath Cathal said, “Down there. The boat. Quick, Clodagh.”

  A boat. Danu preserve us. As Cathal helped me down the last sharp drop I saw it: a raft, its wooden decking dark with age, its edges crumbling, its surface just big enough for two people if they sat close together and kept very still. It floated in the shallows, rocking ominously, tethered by a short rope. Another rope, thicker, much longer, stretched all the considerable way from this bank to the far side, dipping in the middle to a mere handspan above the fast-moving surface of the waterway. The poles that held it at either end looked far from substantial. A coil of the lighter rope lay on the raft. Perhaps there was some way of fastening it to the unlikely-looking line and pulling or pushing the thing across. The thought of it turned me cold.

  We were at the river’s edge. Cathal took my arm, tugging me toward the bobbing craft. I trembled with terror. My cowardice appalled me, but I could not make myself be brave about this. In my mind I saw the ramshackle conveyance tipping midstream and sending us into the swift-flowing water. Becan would be borne away in a heartbeat. And I could not swim.

  “No,” I whispered even as we reached the raft. “There has to be another way.”

  “In the name of the gods, Clodagh,” Cathal snapped, “do you have a mission or don’t you? This is it. There is no other way.”

  “Stop!” The voice was loud and commanding. I looked over my shoulder and my heart froze. Aidan was standing ten strides up the bank, visible between the oddly separated sheets of rain, his brown hair plastered flat to his head, his jaw set grimly, the arrow in his hunting bow aimed squarely in our direction. “Let her go, Cathal. Now.” It was a warrior’s tone, deathly calm. The moment Cathal obeyed him, he would be ready to shoot. If Cathal would not give himself up, his best friend was going to make an end of him.

  “Aidan, don’t!” I called. This couldn’t be right. Neither my father nor Johnny would have wanted Cathal dead. “Don’t do this!”

  I might as well not have spoken. “Let her go, Cathal,” Aidan said again. “She’s not for you. I don’t know what you’re planning, but Clodagh has no part in it.” The bow was perfectly steady.

  Cathal let go of my hand. I was between him and Aidan’s arrow. Aidan would not release it while there was a risk of hitting me. And now Cathal was giving me the choice. Be safe; go home. Forget him and his rash offer of help. Or . . .

  “Get on the raft,” I said. “Left foot first. Keep behind me. Take my hand, please. I’d rather not slip and go into the water.”

  His hand closed around mine again; I heard his indrawn breath. He had actually thought I would walk away. He’d really believed I would leave him facing that arrow. The raft creaked as he stepped on; I felt his grip tighten as the thing rocked and he fought for balance. A moment later I was standing there beside him, wobbling, my gut clenching in fear. Up on the bank, Aidan had lowered his bow. He looked like a man watching something dear to him perish before his eyes. His two companions had appeared behind him now, each with a straining dog on a rope. One gestured, clearly asking if the hounds should be loosed, and Aidan answered with a sharp negative.

  I couldn’t balance; it was impossible to stay upright. I tried to keep my body between Cathal and the shore while he did something complicated with the coil of rope, whistling through his teeth as he worked. I waited for Aidan to set the dogs on us; while we were moored here, they could reach us easily. I waited for him to come down and try to cut the rope. I waited for the three men to launch a concerted attack on Cathal—even a warrior of his talents could surely not prevail in such an uneven contest. But all Aidan did was put the arrow back in his quiver. As the shorter rope was fastened to the longer by means of an elaborately carved bone hook and Cathal began to pull us out onto the river hand over hand, his childhood friend stood utterly still, eyes dark in an ashen face, and simply watched us go.

  CHAPTER 9

  The river was swift. Its flow caught the raft a short distance out from the bank, sweeping us under the long rope and pulling the short tether so taut I was sure it would snap. Cathal was breathing hard; the muscles in his arms were bunched as he struggled to move us across the current. I crouched beside him, sheltering Becan. It was raining upstream and downstream, but not here. The downpour stopped a little short of our rope on either side, as if whoever had chosen to play with us had decided rain might be one challenge too many right now. Nonetheless, my cloak was sodden and Becan’s sling was damp; he must be cold. I held him close, making myself keep my eyes open, though every instinct told me to curl up and shut out reality until this passage was over. There was nothing to
hold onto. Each time the raft dipped one way or the other, freezing river water washed across its surface, drenching my skirt anew. My stomach was tight with fear. My back ached with the effort of keeping my balance.

  Cathal’s hand slipped on the rope. Cursing, he snatched and held. His narrow face wore an expression of fierce concentration. I dared not utter a word. What had I been thinking of, to let him risk his own safety coming with me? If he fell off, not only would he likely drown, but I would be stuck out in the middle of the river, lacking the strength to pull the raft to one side or the other. I should never, ever have allowed this to happen.

  I risked a glance back. For a moment, just a moment, I saw the diminishing figure of Aidan on the shore behind us, and it seemed to me he half raised one hand in a tentative salute of farewell. Before I could respond, the rain descended over him. There was nothing to be seen but a sheet of gray. Ahead, the shadowy expanse of the unknown forest loomed ever closer as Cathal inched us forward, hand by straining hand, breath by labored breath.

  “All right?” I asked, ashamed that my terror held me cringing on the raft, unable to help him.

  “Mm. You?” was all he could manage.

  I opened my mouth to tell him I was fine. Before I could utter this blatant lie, something flashed past a handspan from my eyes, whirring, creaking, crying out in sharp derision. I flinched back. Cathal swore as another of the creatures dived close, then rose, flapping, toward the trees on the far side. The raft jerked and began to rock crazily in the current. I clutched Becan; he screamed in fright. When I looked up again I saw that Cathal had lost his hold on the guide rope. We were still linked to it by the shorter tie, but the river was doing a powerful job of straining that tether to snapping point.