Heir to Sevenwaters

by Juliet Marillier

  “They might,” I said, imagining the cruel possibility that I might win Finbar’s release and head for home only to see him perish from hunger before I reached Sevenwaters. “You heard that creature confirm what Willow said, that darker forces now hold sway here. That is just such a trick as they might play.”

  “Clodagh,” Cathal said.

  “Yes?”

  “There’s evidently a certain animosity toward me in these parts. That creature made it clear I’m unwelcome. I concur with what it suggested—I believe my presence endangers you. I think my role as protector may be over now. From a certain point on, you will do better without me.”

  This chilled me utterly. “No, Cathal!” I said, panic making my voice shake. “You must stay with me! If we split up we might never find each other again.”

  His brows arched. “And you would wish to do so?”

  “I can’t believe you need to ask that!” I dropped my gaze. Let too much feeling slip into my voice and I might drive him back behind his old barriers: cynicism, cutting wit, silence. I gathered Becan up, cradling him in my arms. I should settle him for the night.

  “You underestimate your own courage, Clodagh.” The firelight cast a strange red glow on Cathal’s features. His hands were restless, the long fingers knotting and twisting. “You started the mission without me. If I hadn’t met you in the forest as I fled, you’d have kept going on your own. You’d have found your brother and brought him home, I’m sure of it. No”—he glanced up, sensing a question in my mind—“I’m not speaking from the certainty of a vision. I cannot tell you how this will fall out. But I have faith in you. Such a capacity for love must surely see you triumph. If there is one weight dragging you down, it’s my presence. These folk don’t want me here. And indeed, if I had not accompanied Johnny to Sevenwaters, I suspect your baby brother would never have been taken.”

  “You said something like that before. What do you mean? How can the two possibly be connected?”

  He sighed. “This is a thing I cannot tell you; not even now, when you have learned some of my best-kept secrets. If this turns out well . . . if the two of us reach the home shore again and Lord Sean’s heir is saved, I will answer any question you want to ask. That’s a promise, Clodagh.”

  “I’ll hold you to it,” I said after a moment. “Lord Sean’s heir. Finbar isn’t that, not the way things stand. There was a prophecy, believed to represent the will of the Tuatha De. It was always interpreted to mean that Johnny would be chieftain of Sevenwaters some day. My father has promised that and he’s a man of his word.”

  Cathal hesitated before speaking. “A man might change his mind once he had a son of his own,” he said. “Not all fathers dismiss such a gift as worthless. And what of Johnny’s opinion on the matter? Perhaps becoming chieftain, settling down, producing his own heirs, is not a prospect that he truly welcomes.”

  “He’s always seemed perfectly happy with the idea,” I said, surprised. “True, Father made that promise at a time when he believed he’d never have a son. But it would be hard on Johnny if he did change his mind. Bran’s holding at Harrowfield is to go to his second son, Fintan, because Johnny is expected to take on Sevenwaters. If what you suggest happened, Johnny could be left with nothing.”

  “Ah,” said Cathal. “But maybe that doesn’t trouble him. Maybe he’d rather things stayed as they are right now. He has a home and a calling on Inis Eala.”

  “But no chieftaincy; no holding beyond the island itself. No wife and children. Inis Eala is not a particularly good place for families.”

  “That is true, Clodagh.” His tone was a little odd, and when I looked at him I saw an expression on his face that seemed part compassion, part sorrow. “Johnny’s adept at maintaining a good face; like his father, he seldom lets others see deep. Clodagh, he loves the island. He loves his work as a leader of men. As for the other, he doesn’t want a wife and children. You must know how things stand between him and Gareth.”

  For a moment I failed to understand what he meant. Then I wondered if he was teasing me in the way that had become all too familiar at Sevenwaters. But he’d looked and sounded entirely serious. Rather than utter the denial that sprang to my lips—for what he suggested was a complete surprise to me—I held my tongue and considered the possibility that it might be true. I recalled my visit to the island and Johnny’s trips to Sevenwaters, on most of which Gareth had accompanied him. They were certainly very close, the two of them. But if there was something more than friendship between them, they were expert at concealing it.

  “Are you sure?” I asked.

  “I am, though perhaps I should not have told you. I thought you would know. On the island it is not a secret.”

  “I didn’t know, Cathal.” I thought again about Mother’s ambivalent attitude to Johnny as heir to Sevenwaters, which I had always put down to the fact that she had never quite approved of his father. Nobody could dislike Johnny himself. He was the kind of man everyone wanted as a friend. “Maybe my parents do, but it’s not the sort of thing they would discuss with me—we aren’t quite as open in our conversation as that. Poor Johnny; such expectations of him, and all likely to leave him deeply unhappy for the rest of his life.”

  “A man can marry and father sons even if he is not that way inclined,” Cathal said dryly. “But there would be little love in such a partnership.”

  “Love?” I echoed. “In our circles, marriages are made for reasons of strategic alliance. I count Deirdre lucky that she actually likes Illann. None of us expects love.”

  “How fortunate that you met Aidan, then. With him you will have both a strategic alliance and love. I most certainly should not set any obstacles in your way.”

  “Obstacles? You mean, such as an existing promise? You didn’t exactly set that in the way, Cathal. You merely made sure I knew about it. I may not have been grateful at the time, but really you were doing Aidan and me both a favor. A relationship can’t be founded on lies. Anyway, this is a ridiculous conversation for us to be having here, now. It’s dark, it’s cold, we’re miles from anywhere. Once Becan’s sleeping I’ll take my turn on watch. You should get some rest.”

  “In fact, I was not speaking of Aidan’s betrothal to Rathnait.” His voice was very quiet. “It is possible I exaggerated the importance of that just a little.”

  I glanced across at him and immediately he dropped his gaze so I could not see what was in his eyes. “Then what were you speaking of, Cathal?” I asked.

  “Nothing. Forget it.” His tone forbade further questioning. “As for rest, I doubt very much that I will sleep tonight. This place disturbs me.”

  He did lie down after I had settled the baby. I thought he would drop off to sleep quickly, disturbed or not, for it had been a long and eventful day. As for me, I had plenty to keep my mind occupied during the hours of my watch. I had learned more about Cathal today than during his entire time at Sevenwaters. His mother’s story was a sad one, though not so very unusual. Often enough poor women did fall victim to selfish men. I could hardly imagine how terrible it must have been for those two little boys to find her body; for young Cathal to realize that his mother had not thought her son’s existence enough to go on living for. Cathal had grown up in the conviction that every part of his own character that he disliked was inherited from his unknown parent. Privileged by Lord Murtagh’s kindness, he had longed for his mother’s love. He had both welcomed and resented his place in the chieftain’s household. That was exactly echoed in his edgy relationship with Aidan. They were as close as brothers; they knew each other’s weak spots. Like Deirdre and me, I thought. Often my twin irritated me beyond measure. That did not stop me from keeping a special corner of my heart especially for her. It didn’t matter what Deirdre did, I would always love her. I spared a thought for Aidan, remembering him as he’d watched our departure from the human world. He had stood there with his bow in his hands and his eyes full of tears. Not for me, for Cathal. If my companion thought himself unloved,
he was quite wrong.

  I glanced across at him again. He was lying quite still, his eyes closed, the blanket covering him to the chin. I wished him better dreams than mine had been.

  The birds had fallen silent in the trees as darkness came, and the fire was all I had for companionship. I must stay awake and alert until Cathal had had a proper rest. He’d been more than tired. Something was troubling him, something more than a belief that he should not accompany me right to the end of this journey. Beneath the strength and resourcefulness that made him such a good companion, Cathal was afraid.

  At home, when I needed to stay awake, I would keep both mind and hands busy by tackling a complex piece of embroidery or practicing the harp. Neither was possible here, but one task was long overdue. My hair was full of knots. I hunted through my bag and found my comb. Setting my tangled locks to rights was going to be a long and painful job, and I didn’t have Deirdre to keep me entertained. But I could sing. Cathal appeared to be sound asleep now, so I shouldn’t disturb him as long as I kept it quiet. A ballad had been unfolding in my mind for quite some time, based on a traditional form but with its own words and tune. While I combed, I would work on that.

  Where have you wandered, my dear one, my own

  Where have you wandered, my handsome young man?

  I’ve been to the river, I’ve been to the well

  I’ve seen my reflection, I’ve gazed into hell

  But I still cannot find my way home

  I still cannot find my way home.

  I played with the tune until I had it just right, with an uncertainty to the ending that reflected the words, words that had started to come to me earlier today. I wondered what Aidan would have thought of the piece.

  Where have you wandered, my dear one, my own

  Where have you wandered, my handsome young man?

  I’ve run through the forest, I’ve climbed up the hill

  I’ve fought with my dreams and surrendered my will

  And I still cannot find my way home

  I still cannot find my way home.

  I winced as the comb struck another recalcitrant twist. Making myself look even half tidy was going to take all night. Still, I must persevere. It sounded as if this Lord of the Oak would be influenced as much by my appearance as by the heartfelt plea I intended to make to him. I must do whatever I could to get my brother back.

  I hummed quietly to myself, working on a new verse. I’ve strayed in a wilderness tangled and wild . . . I hadn’t intended the song to be about Cathal, but it undoubtedly was. All the same, the sadness in it went beyond his story. When I thought of him as a boy, finding his mother dead, I thought of my own mother and the way she had looked when we told her Finbar was gone. I considered Father’s disappointment in me, and I thought of Johnny and Gareth, and how difficult it must be to love somebody and to have to keep it concealed from most of the world. I looked at Cathal again. He was lying on his back with his head turned away from me, his dark hair spread across the ground, the pale skin of his neck exposed above the fabric of his shirt. He had one arm outstretched, his hand open, the long fingers relaxed.

  My heart stood still. Suddenly, urgently, I wanted to touch, to stroke, to lay my hand against his neck or his cheek. His pose was that of a sleeping child, all trust. But the feelings that surged in me were those of a woman for a man, the same I had felt earlier, but a hundred times more powerful. I wanted to lie down there beside him. I wanted to feel his body against mine. I imagined his hands touching me with tenderness and passion, and mine responding in the same way. I had not felt like this when Aidan smiled and spoke sweet words to me. My body had not responded in this way when I danced with him. And although Aidan and I had made excellent music together, I’d never had the slightest inclination to make up a song about him. The yearning that had stirred within me at Cathal’s first kiss, when we had thought we were saying goodbye, was growing so strong that there would come a time when it was impossible to conceal. Here by the fire at night, with the forest silent around us, it would be all too easy to surrender to it. I considered Cathal’s remark about setting obstacles between me and Aidan, the one he had refused to explain. His attitude to me had softened greatly; I’d have been blind if I hadn’t noticed that. Was there something more in it? Perhaps that was wishful thinking on my part. He did keep pushing me away.

  I imagined saying I love you to Cathal. Or, still more shocking, I want you. How would he answer that? With tenderness or with mocking laughter? Once we were back in our own world, very likely he would be the old Cathal again, the one I could never be quite sure of. The trickster.

  “Ouch,” I muttered as the comb snagged itself again.

  A familiar, eldritch cry rang out in the forest. Beyond the barrier of thorn, something moved. My skin rose in goose bumps. I sat very still, peering into the darkness, wondering if it had been only a bird or a fox. Perhaps Dog Mask had come to check up on us. But maybe it was something else. Maybe that thing that cried so forlornly was crouched right next to the hedge. I was supposed to be on watch. I got slowly to my feet, my heart thumping. I couldn’t wake Cathal every time the leaves shook in the breeze. On the other hand, if there was a threat I shouldn’t just sit here and wait for it to arrive. I bent and took hold of a burning stick from the fire, wincing as a splinter speared the skin of my hand. I walked in the general direction of the gate, the makeshift torch casting a wayward light over my path. It wasn’t far; the arch of twisted branches soon came into view. The gate stood closed. I had no intention of venturing outside it without our guide. I stood four paces away and lifted my torch as high as I could.

  Beyond the thorn hedge, the forest seemed empty of all life. The wailing had ceased. Nothing stirred; no bird uttered a sleepy call, no hedgehog or mouse made a rustling progress through the leaf litter. I was about to lower the brand and retreat to the fire when I saw them: a procession of gray-cloaked figures moving with slow purpose around the perimeter of our enclosure. Each walked alone. They maintained a distance of about four strides from one another. Their footfalls were silent; they passed like shadows. What were they doing? Patrolling the hedge to keep us safe, to ward off intruders? Or ensuring we stayed confined? One thing was certain: their great height marked these minders out as no kin of Dog Mask. In the tales, the Old Ones were always described as squat and small.

  My eyes were becoming accustomed to the odd light, the flickering cast by the fire stick, the shadowy darkness around and beyond the gate. The walkers in the forest were deeply hooded; I could see nothing of their faces. Here and there the burning brand caught a pinpoint of light, as of a bright eye, and here and there a long-fingered white hand showed against the gray of a garment. I thought I could hear a sound of slow breathing. I felt the chill of the uncanny deep inside me and was afraid.

  “Come out,” someone whispered. “Open the gate. You want your brother, don’t you? Come and fetch him.”

  CHAPTER 12

  Finbar. Gods, was he just beyond the hedge, perhaps held in the arms of one of these gray ghosts? It was dark and cold. I must bring him in to the fire . . . I took a step toward the gate and stumbled over a stone, almost dropping my brand. I clutched at the stick. A jab of pain went through my hand, where the splinter was lodged in the skin. What had got into me? It was crazy to consider going out there. Beyond that barrier, risk is everywhere, Dog Mask had said.

  “Clodagh.” Someone spoke across the gate, soft-voiced. A woman. Framed by her gray hood, her face was oval and lovely. Her eyes were the blue of a summer sky, her skin like fresh cream. My mouth dried up; my heart beat faster. Was not this Deirdre of the Forest, the woman of the Tuatha De who had once guided my grandmother when she undertook a fearsome test of endurance? She seemed exactly the way Sibeal had described her. Now she was smiling, though her eyes were sad. She looked like a friend.

  “My lady,” I said, my voice coming out as a nervous croak,

  “what do you want from me?”

  “We have your brot
her,” the woman said. “Just over there—look.” I craned my neck. One of the other figures had moved up closer and was holding a small bundle. In the uneven light I could not see it clearly. “Open the gate, Clodagh, step through. I’m here to help you, daughter of Sevenwaters. Your mission is at an end.”

  So easy. All I had to do was unlatch the gate and take five or six steps and I could have Finbar in my arms. My mother’s hope, my father’s joy. He was almost within my grasp. But . . .

  “What about the password?” I asked.

  She chuckled in amusement. “Don’t worry about that. The gate will let you out; the password is only for going in. A trick devised by meddlesome folk. Ignore it. Come, my dear, come and fetch the child. You must be longing to take him home.”

  Something was wrong here. No mention of Becan. Wasn’t this supposed to be an exchange? And if they wanted to help me, why didn’t they pass Finbar over the gate or bring him in to me?

  “Please hold him up where I can see him,” I said, shivering at my own temerity. It was not for a human girl to question the motives of the Tuatha De. They were folk of immense power.

  The woman clicked her long white fingers, and the other person stepped up beside the gate, holding the bundle for my scrutiny. I was not tall enough to look over the top of the gate, so I peered between the woven twigs and branches, trying to position the brand without setting fire to anything. Within the folds of gray, a baby slept peacefully. Rosebud lips; a decisive nose; a lock of dark hair. My breath caught in my throat. It really was Finbar. Only a step away. I didn’t even need to leave the sanctuary of the clearing. All that was required was to unlatch the gate, put one foot out and take him in my arms.

  “You will not have to face the Lord of the Oak,” the woman said. “Take your brother now and make your escape before Mac Dara learns of your presence, and you can be back at Sevenwaters by morning. The path home is easier.”