Heir to Sevenwaters

by Juliet Marillier

  My sister was beaming. She ran the last few steps, fell to her knees and threw her arms around me and Finbar, causing him to complain vigorously. “Clodagh! You’ve got him!” There were tears running down her smiling face.

  “Mother,” I said. “Is she all right, Sibeal?”

  My sister nodded, momentarily unable to speak. Then Ciarán came up behind her, inclined his head courteously, and said, “We are camped a short distance away, over the hill. When you’re ready we’ll take you there. We have food and water and a change of clothing for you.”

  I must have looked incredulous. Sibeal gave a shaky laugh and said, “We knew you were coming soon and where we’d find you. We saw it in the water, both of us. But I couldn’t tell Father or Mother. It would have been too cruel to get their hopes up and then find out the visions meant something else. Uncle Ciarán told them I had to come here for some tutoring. Oh, Clodagh, everyone’s been so worried about you! What are those scratches on your face? And Finbar—is he unharmed?”

  For Sibeal, this was an unusually animated speech. “He seems fine,” I said. “He’s been well looked after. It’s a long story. Thank you for being here.” I glanced at Ciarán, trying to work out what he was thinking, but his mulberry eyes gave nothing away. “Uncle, I would prefer not to be seen by anyone else at the nemetons. Not even Conor. I need to explain something to you and Sibeal, something my parents aren’t going to like at all. Not about the baby,” I added hastily, seeing the sudden alarm on my sister’s face. “Another matter.”

  Ciarán seemed unperturbed. “My brethren do not disturb me when I am teaching, Clodagh, and our little camp is at some distance from their gathering place. Conor is at Sevenwaters; there’s a council in progress. We, too, have some news.”

  “A council? Isn’t that rather quick? Father and Johnny weren’t even—” I halted, a frisson of anxiety passing through me. “How long have I been gone?” I made myself ask.

  “Nearly a whole turning of the moon,” Sibeal said solemnly. “Clodagh, there’s some very bad news. It’s about Aidan.”

  “I know he’s dead,” I said. “Mac Dara killed him. We saw it.”

  “We? Who—”

  “This can wait, Sibeal.” Ciarán was watching me closely. “Let us walk to the other side of the hill before we exchange our news.”

  “A whole turning of the moon,” I muttered. “So long.” These tricks of time could work either way. I thought of Cathal, and what might happen if months and years passed in the Otherworld before I could reach him. Let him not forget me, I prayed. Let Mac Dara not poison his mind beyond recovery.

  We moved to a neat small encampment on the far side of the hill, with a hearth between stones and rudimentary shelters for sleeping. An area under an awning housing various tools—birch augury sticks, a mortar and pestle, a copper bowl and ewer—indicated that my sister and her tutor had been working hard while they awaited my arrival. There was a pot of porridge beside the fire. Ciarán, a man economical with both words and gestures, filled a bowl for me and made me eat all of it before I told them my story.

  Sibeal was surprised that Cathal had come with me on my journey. She was astonished that he had proven to be, not just a rather difficult friend of Johnny’s, but the son of Mac Dara himself. Ciarán listened intently, saying very little, but none of it seemed to shock him. I had a feeling he knew a great deal already.

  “And so,” I said at the end, “I can’t come home. I have to go back and get him out. But the Old Ones didn’t tell me how to find a portal, so I suppose I’ll have to wander off into the forest and look for one, as I did before.” Somehow, here in my own world with my stomach comfortably full and the fire warming me and my sister sitting right beside me holding the drowsing baby, doing that did not seem quite as possible as it had before. After all, it was Cathal who had found the river; it was Cathal who had taken me across it. “I have to, Sibeal,” I added, seeing her eyes widen in disbelief. “There’s nobody else to help him.”

  After a moment’s silence, my sister burst out, “You mean right now, straightaway? Clodagh, you can’t! You must take Finbar home yourself! Mother’s frantic with worry about you. Father would never forgive himself if something happened to you now, after you’ve got back safely. He’s already beside himself with guilt for misjudging you over the changeling. And then there’s this business with Illann—”

  “You’d better tell me everything, starting from the beginning,” I said grimly. If even Sibeal, the wisest and most solemn of my sisters, was babbling on as if this were the end of the world, I could imagine what kind of reception I would get if I went home and announced my plans.

  “When you left,” Ciarán said, “your father called both Conor and me to the house so we could advise him. Past experience has taught me that the best approach in these crises is to tell the truth. That was the advice I gave your father. So Sean went to your mother and explained what you believed about the changeling and why you had gone away. Some had thought that to hear such tidings would cause her to abandon hope altogether, since the loss of her baby had already left her much weakened in both body and mind. But Aisling is made of stronger stuff than may be apparent. Even as she feared for you, the news of your mission gave her heart. She believed from the first that you were right; that, for some reason of their own, the Fair Folk had taken her child and that you would bring Finbar back to her. For her, it was a relief to know that the baby was in their hands and not those of an unscrupulous political rival. Sean has been less certain. He berates himself, as any father would, for letting his daughter put herself at such terrible risk. But he took heart from a contact with his sister not long ago.”

  Aunt Liadan; my father’s twin. She shared the same kind of bond with him as I did with Deirdre. Liadan had rebelled against the express wishes of the Tuatha De; she had married a man of her own choice, an outsider, and had taken their child away from Sevenwaters. It was another of the tangled family stories. I knew there were parts of it my sisters and I had never been told. There was something dark there, something that was still secret, a twist of fate that had never been publicly unraveled.

  “Liadan supported your choice,” Ciarán said. “Sean did not tell us exactly what she said to him, but it was her counsel that made him realize he had been wrong about a political abduction, wrong about a conspiracy, and unjust in his refusal to listen to you, Clodagh. He will be alarmed and upset if you do not return home today with the child.”

  I noted that he did not offer advice one way or the other. “Sibeal could take him home,” I said. “You or another of the druids could escort her.”

  Ciarán looked at me, his strange eyes very intent.

  “Or a message could be sent to my parents, saying Finbar is at the nemetons and unharmed,” I added. “Father would send someone straightaway to fetch him, I’m certain. Whatever we do, it should be quite soon, because this milk will not stay fresh, and he is quite little—he needs feeding often.” The next part was awkward to say. “But I must have time to get ready and leave before they reach here. I know Father would try to stop me.”

  “But, Clodagh,” said Sibeal, quieter now, “how could you do it? And why? Cathal is a warrior; surely he can look after himself.”

  “Mac Dara is a creature who cannot tell right from wrong,” I said. I had not told them about Becan and the fire, only that the changeling had been injured and that I had mended him with the help of the Old Ones, then returned him to his mother. I had left out quite a lot, not so much to spare my sister as because it hurt too much to put certain things into words. “He’ll try to twist his son to his will. He wants to turn Cathal into a copy of himself. It’s true, what Willow told us in her tales. There’s been a change in the realm of the Tuatha De since their kind last had dealings with our family. The place has turned dark; the good ones have gone away over the sea. It isn’t right that a heartless leader like Mac Dara should rule there. Maybe we can’t do anything about that, but I must rescue Cathal. He’s only in t
here because of me. If I hadn’t rushed off after Finbar, if I hadn’t accepted Cathal’s help, if I hadn’t screamed at the crucial moment, he would still be safe.”

  Sibeal turned her big, light-filled eyes on me. There was a question in them.

  “I love him,” I said simply. “There it is. I must help him.”

  “Clodagh, that would be . . .” My sister hesitated.

  “Dangerous? I know that.” It would be more than dangerous. There was every likelihood that I might never come home again.

  There was a silence. Ciarán stared into the coals. Sibeal watched me with the sleeping Finbar on her knee. I thought about Cathal and forced back my tears.

  “I spoke to Willow, just now,” I said eventually. “I believe I have to make a talisman for Cathal, something that signifies selfless love. That has protective power because it’s beyond the understanding of the Fair Folk. Then I have to find a portal. And then, hardest of all, Cathal and I must break the spell. Mac Dara implied that it was the same spell that was in Willow’s story: Set your foot inside the door, you’ll be mine forever more. And I can’t think of any way at all that I could counter that. Mac Dara is absolutely determined to keep Cathal. And he’s . . .” Powerful. Ruthless. Entirely without scruples. “He’s strong,” I said, lifting my chin. “But I have to try.”

  “You really are going to go,” breathed Sibeal. “You really do love that strange, awkward man. Aidan seemed so much more suited to you.”

  “I did like Aidan. He was a fine person, for all his faults. But I never loved him, not as I love Cathal. Tell me, did Johnny bring Aidan’s body home?”

  “Johnny found him in the forest,” Ciarán said gravely. “Aidan and the two men who rode out with him were all killed by the same kind of arrow. The make was unlike anything Johnny had seen before; it was another indication that uncanny powers might be involved in this course of events. Aidan was laid to rest at Sevenwaters; Conor conducted the ritual. A rider was sent to Whiteshore with the news. As to the matter of Glencarnagh, there are still no answers there, and it has caused grave dispute between Sean and your sister’s new husband. Johnny’s investigations failed to uncover any conclusive evidence as to who was responsible for the attack. He paid Illann a visit and confronted him with Cathal’s suggestion that he was somehow involved. Illann denied it with some vehemence and demanded an apology, which he didn’t get. As a result, there’s significant disquiet among the southern chieftains.”

  That sounded serious; it would have the potential to reignite the territorial feuds that had plagued the region for generations. “Is this why the council is being held so early?” I asked, thinking of poor Deirdre, caught up in the middle of it all.

  “Illann and Deirdre are at Sevenwaters now,” Sibeal said. “The chieftains are working on a treaty, but I don’t know the details. Father is grim, Illann’s angry and Deirdre’s furious with you, Clodagh. She told me she’s been trying to reach you and that you were blocking her out of your mind.”

  “I just haven’t had room for her,” I said. “Tell me, what have people been saying about Cathal?”

  “There was plenty of talk when he first disappeared,” said Ciarán. “It was a mystery: where had he gone, who was paying him, how had he managed to vanish so effectively? Nobody seemed to entertain the possibility that the young man was not fully of humankind, or that his reasons for fleeing Sevenwaters had nothing to do with disputes between Lord Sean and his neighboring chieftains.”

  “You must tell Father that Cathal played no part in Finbar’s abduction or in the attack on Glencarnagh,” I said, looking from Ciarán to Sibeal and back again. “Explain what I’ve told you, that he was just trying to keep out of his father’s clutches and to warn me about what his visions had shown him. Make sure Johnny knows that, too. Please.”

  “Clodagh,” said Ciarán quietly, “in this matter of Illann . . . Perhaps it can wait, I don’t know. How exactly did Illann come into Cathal’s vision?”

  “He’d have to answer that himself,” I said, my heart sinking as I realized my uncle must believe it possible that Illann was in some way guilty, or he would have no cause to ask such a question. “Cathal did say that perhaps his father had been meddling with his visions; showing him certain things just to create strife. Mac Dara could have been trying to get Cathal into trouble so he would leave Sevenwaters and go into the forest on his own.”

  Ciarán nodded. “In time, with the right training, Cathal could learn to counter such interference. Unless and until he discovers the extent of his own abilities, I fear he is at great risk. You’re right, Clodagh; you must move swiftly.”

  I looked at him, and so did Sibeal. “Thank you,” I said quietly. “I wasn’t sure you’d support my decision to go. I don’t think Conor would, and I know Father wouldn’t.”

  I could see memories in Ciarán’s dark eyes, sad ones and happy ones. “This is not the first time I have found myself in disagreement with the two of them on a personal issue,” he said. “When it happened before, they prevailed over me. Their decision was wrong; it led to bitter losses. I will not allow that to happen again, Clodagh. If you love this young man, you must go to his aid. I regret that I cannot come with you; there are many, many reasons why that would be inadvisable, and perhaps one day I will speak of those to you and your Cathal. But I can show you the way in, and I can provide advice that will help you.”

  “The way in?” I breathed. “You mean you . . .” I could not quite say it aloud.

  Ciarán was suddenly grave again. “I have not entered that realm in a long time,” he said. “I am one of the brethren now; my path took a twist and a turn a few years back and I have chosen a discipline that requires me to curtail certain . . . certain skills, abilities, that I once put into practice on a daily basis. I’ve been tempted; especially so since this Lord of the Oak made his presence known in the forest of Sevenwaters. I like his ways as little as you do, Clodagh. But there is a time for everything, and now is not the time for me to do battle with Mac Dara. If I went with you, this could grow into something far bigger and more perilous than any of us is ready to deal with.” Seeing that both of us were staring with fascination, he gave a diffident smile, adding, “Enough of this. We have practical decisions to make. With your agreement, Sibeal and I will take the baby down to my brethren and arrange for a message to go to Lord Sean. Sibeal, we must ask you to remain at the nemetons with Finbar until someone comes to collect him—then you could return home and explain to your father what Clodagh has told us about Cathal and why she has not come with you. I suppose he will send for me and give me a stern talking-to. Or perhaps not. He knows from sad experience, as I do, just how much this family has lost through the machinations of the Tuatha De. We must not lose another.” He glanced at me. “As for a talisman of selfless love, perhaps you need not make one.”

  “Why not?”

  Ciarán smiled. “To return to that realm of shadows for your sweetheart’s sake, Clodagh, is a breathtaking act of selfless love. I think you are the only talisman he needs.”

  Sibeal was already gathering her cloak, Finbar held competently in one arm. “You know that rhyme, Clodagh,” she said diffidently. “You’ll be mine forever more, and so on. There is another part to it, after that. Did you forget the story?”

  My heart stood still a moment. “I was called out of the hall before Willow finished telling it,” I breathed. “What, Sibeal? What other part? How can you’ll be mine forever more not be the last line? I mean, forever is . . . forever.”

  “You mean the tale of Albha and Saorla?” asked Ciarán. “Oh, there are three or four variants of that one. There’s always some kind of rider after forever more, different for each version. Sometimes it doesn’t come in until the end of the tale. Which one did Willow tell, Sibeal?”

  Sibeal frowned, trying to remember, and I gritted my teeth in impatience.

  “Something about waves,” she said eventually. “Till waves are calmed by human hand, that was the last line.
It sounds poetic, but it’s not especially useful. I think hand rhymed with stand.”

  “Till ancient foes in friendship stand, and waves are calmed by human hand,” said Ciarán quietly. “It could be interpreted in many ways. Now we must go. You will be quite safe if you wait here for me, Clodagh. Within the boundary marked by the ogham stones we are protected by forces of nature.”

  My sister looked so small, standing there with the baby in her arms. “Thank you, Sibeal,” I said, getting up and embracing her. “You’ve done so much for me already, and now you’re having to do all my explaining again. I’m lucky to have such a true sister.”

  “It’s all right, Clodagh,” she said soberly. “I hope you’ll be safe. I’ll watch for you in the water.”

  While I waited for Ciarán to come back I tried to imagine under what circumstances human hands might be able to influence something as big and powerful as the sea, and failed. The other part was easily interpreted. In a realm where folk kept saying things like Our kind does not speak to his kind, there were foes aplenty. Changing their attitudes, it seemed to me, might be the work of a lifetime.

  It was some while before my uncle returned. I refilled my water-skin at the nearby stream and helped myself to some supplies from the store of food at the little camp, packing them neatly into my bag. I washed my face and hands and changed my clothes. It was a pleasure to put on the familiar things Sibeal had brought for me—a favorite old homespun gown, fresh small-clothes and a warm shawl. I rolled the embroidered gown I had been wearing into a ball and left it under a tree. Then I sat quietly awhile, thinking of what awaited me and trying to gather my strength. My thoughts strayed over the tale of Firinne, that sad, strong young woman. If she had outwitted Mac Dara, I thought, then perhaps I could, too. There was a little thread of the uncanny in my own ancestry, after all.