Heir to Sevenwaters

by Juliet Marillier

  I did not want to let Cathal out of my sight. But he would do well enough among the men of Inis Eala. They were his comrades; they would look after him. “Go and rest,” I said quietly. “I won’t be far away.”

  Cathal lifted my hand to his lips under the eyes of all three men, holding it there a moment. “Until later,” he said.

  “Until later,” I said, smiling as I turned away. Maybe my beloved did look exhausted, worn-out, aged beyond his years. But he most certainly hadn’t lost his courage.

  There followed a whirl of greetings, embraces, tears, smiles and garbled explanations. By the time Father and I reached the sewing room we had an entourage: Sibeal, Eilis and Coll. Mother was seated in a comfortable chair, the remains of her breakfast on a tray nearby. Morning sun streamed in through the window, catching the bright flame of her hair where it curled out from the confines of her veil. She was embroidering a pattern of spring flowers onto a tiny shirt. The baby was beside her in a willow basket. With her were Muirrin and Eithne, mending.

  I had imagined all manner of grave possibilities for my mother’s health. I saw immediately that I had troubled myself without cause. She rose to her feet, holding her arms wide, and I walked into them. After a little we drew apart. Both of us had tears in our eyes.

  “Eithne,” said Mother briskly, “Clodagh needs something to eat and drink; fetch another tray, will you? And ask someone to take warm water and a tub to her chamber for bathing, please. She’ll be ready for that as soon as she’s had her breakfast. You young ones, off with you! You’ll have plenty of time to talk to Clodagh later. You’re not to disturb her until she’s had a rest. Go on!”

  I was astonished to see my mother so remarkably restored to her old self when it was only a day since she had got Finbar back, but perhaps I should not have been. Although my double journey had encompassed only a few days by my own counting, that first absence had taken up almost a turning of the moon in the human world. I recalled Ciarán saying that hope had restored my mother to herself; the hope that I would bring Finbar safely home. It warmed my heart that she had had such faith in me.

  Over bread and cheese and a jug of good mead I told the bare bones of my story. I did not tell them of the perilous bargain I had made with the Lord of the Oak, in which I might have found myself handing over my firstborn son or being obliged to share Mac Dara’s bed. I did not tell them the full story of Becan. But I did make it clear that there was a new order now in the realm of the Tuatha De, and that we would all have to be wary. I did not spell out what lay between Cathal and me, but it must have been plain enough in my account of the way Mac Dara had used me to bring his son into the Otherworld, and in the fact that I had risked so much to go back for him. Father listened in silence. Mother went on sewing, asking a question now and then. Muirrin looked in turn astounded, amused and horrified.

  “And then,” I concluded, “we waded out of the river and found ourselves back in our own world. Fiacha flew off, probably straight to the nemetons, and we walked home through the forest. It’s quite a while since either of us has had any sleep, so I hope you’ll allow Cathal sufficient time to rest before he’s called to account for himself, Father. He hasn’t done anything wrong. He had no involvement with what happened at Glencarnagh—that was all Mac Dara’s doing, and calculated specifically to cast suspicion on Cathal. Of course, the Lord of the Oak also likes stirring up trouble purely to entertain himself.”

  Father did not appear particularly reassured. “I hope you’re right about this, Clodagh. There’s the matter of Cathal’s accusation against Illann; that has caused a good deal of trouble with the southern faction. We have the opportunity of securing agreement to an unprecedented treaty, with both southern and northern chieftains at the council table. Illann is refusing to sign, claiming his good name has been tarnished by the doubt that lies over him in relation to the Glencarnagh attack. If that matter can be resolved to his satisfaction and mine, we may yet get every chieftain’s mark on our treaty. I’ll want to speak to you and Cathal together as soon as you’ve rested.”

  Mother gave him a particular sort of look. “Clodagh’s asleep on her feet, Sean,” she said. “If she’s said Mac Dara was responsible for the attack, then he was responsible.” An unspoken message was quite clear in her eyes. You’ve refused to believe your daughter once before, and look where that led you. Are you foolish enough to do it again, so soon?

  “Father,” I said, “you do know, don’t you, that the knowledge Cathal gave me about the Glencarnagh raid arose from a scrying vision? Mac Dara is powerful enough to alter Cathal’s visions to suit his own needs. All he wanted was to get Cathal in trouble so he’d have to leave our household and go off into the forest on his own.” I wondered, as I spoke, whether the new Cathal, the one who could change the moods of a raging river, would ever be tricked in that way again.

  “Sibeal was at pains to explain Cathal’s talents as a seer to me when I rode to the nemetons to fetch my son.” Father glanced down at the sleeping baby, and his severe expression softened. “I also exchanged certain words with Ciarán, who seems to share your faith in Cathal’s integrity, as does Johnny. But it’s essential that we hear from Cathal himself. We need all the detail he can provide for us.”

  Mother set aside her embroidery and took my hands in hers.

  “We owe you an immense debt, your father and I,” she said. “This has been a testing time for us, but that is nothing to what you have been through; you and this young man whom I’ve barely met. Sean, you should probably go down and put in an appearance, just to reassure your guests that all is well. Clodagh must have a bath and a short rest now. I insist.”

  “Of course,” muttered Father. “I’m sorry, Daughter; I’ve been inconsiderate. This matter with Illann has been . . . it’s been difficult.” He put a thumb and finger to the bridge of his nose, a sure sign that his head was aching. “In fact, I find myself wishing the lot of them would go home so I could sit here with you for the rest of the day. Yours is a most extraordinary story. You’ve shown exceptional courage, and I regret most bitterly that I did not listen to you from the start. Having you safely back home is more than I deserve, my dear. Your mother’s right; I must go.” He kissed me on the cheek, then left.

  “You’ll need a salve for those cuts, Clodagh,” Muirrin said, turning her professional eye on my face. “I’ll fetch you something from the stillroom and leave it in your chamber, shall I? And I’ll check whether your bath water’s ready.”

  When my sister was gone, Mother said quietly, “You’ve risked a great deal for this young man, Clodagh. When you speak his name, I see something in your eyes that reminds me of the way I felt when I grew old enough to realize that your father was no longer my childhood playmate but had become a fine man. Tell me, my dear. Is it true what Sibeal told us? Do you really love Cathal?”

  “Yes, Mother. I know that in some ways he must seem unsuitable, but he is the only one for me. I hope Father won’t make things too hard for him. Cathal’s been through a terrible ordeal. He was in that place for a long time, far longer than it took in our world.”

  “If he’s worthy of you,” Mother said quietly, “he will have no trouble in giving a good account of himself to your father. There’s been great unrest over Glencarnagh, Clodagh. I’m deeply relieved to hear that Illann had nothing to do with what happened. I hope his wounded pride will not prevent him from making peace with your father.”

  “Surely not,” I said, thinking of Deirdre, who had not yet made an appearance.

  “This has been a difficult time for Sean. It was a coup to get so many of the chieftains here so quickly and then to bring them to the point of agreement. But Illann is bitterly offended, and the other southern chieftains share his sense of outrage; they did not take kindly to Johnny’s arrival at Dun na Ri with a party of warriors armed to the teeth. To add to your father’s worries, Eoin of Lough Gall has never seen eye to eye with Illann, and this matter has given him an excuse to be, if not openly hostil
e to him, then something perilously close to it. Outside the formal discussions, the two of them need to be kept apart.”

  “When I left,” I said, “Father and Johnny seemed at odds. And while I was in that place I dreamed that they were arguing. How do matters stand between them now?”

  “Without Johnny, Sean would have been at breaking point,” Mother said. “Your cousin has been staunch and steady, a rock when Sean came close to despair. I’m deeply grateful that Johnny and his men were here when this happened. I haven’t always looked favorably on them—their presence reminds me too much of bad times in the past—but in this crisis I have seen them shine, despite the loss of one of their own. Clodagh, tell me something.”

  “Yes, Mother?” I knew what was coming.

  “It’s not easy to accept that Cathal is the son of Mac Dara. But it seems that is true, and that he will be in danger here. I understand from Johnny that Cathal has no resources of his own. He’ll be wanting to go back to the island and to take you with him. Will he ask this of your father?”

  I nodded, observing that her neat features, an older version of mine, showed resignation rather than disapproval. “Mac Dara may pursue Cathal all his life,” I said. “Inis Eala is the only place where we can be safe. I’m sorry, Mother. I never thought I would be leaving home so soon. With the new baby, you’ll need help . . .”

  “Go off and take your bath,” Mother said. “Your father owes you a great deal, but you must give him time to come to terms with your choosing this particular suitor.”

  “That’s just it,” I said. “I don’t think we have very much time.” I shivered, remembering Aidan falling to that casually loosed arrow. Mac Dara could step out into our world whenever he wanted to.

  “Don’t look like that, Clodagh. I’ll speak to your father.”

  I hugged her. “Thank you, Mother.” A yawn overtook me.

  “Off you go,” she said, “or you’ll be asleep before you so much as step into the bath. And you could do with a wash, my dear.”

  Deirdre burst in while I was in my bath. “Clodagh, you’re here! Are you all right? Why did you shut me out when I tried to contact you?”

  I regarded her from where I was sitting in the shallow tub, knees drawn up. The water was cooling fast, but I couldn’t find the energy to get out. “I’m fine,” I said, taking in my twin sister’s rich gown, carefully tended hair and pallid, troubled features. “Stark naked and half asleep, but fine.”

  “Where’s Cathal? He came with you, didn’t he? Has he talked to Father and explained what he said about Illann? It’s caused so much trouble!”

  I shut my eyes and let her words flow over me. When she eventually came to a halt I said, “If Cathal has any sense he’ll be in bed fast asleep by now. And be careful what you say about him, because he’s your future brother-in-law.”

  “What?” I might as well have said I was planning to wed a man-eating ogre.

  “I’m marrying Cathal. We’re going to Inis Eala to live. As for Glencarnagh, it’s for Cathal to explain what he said. But it’s all right; I have information that completely exonerates Illann. I think your husband will be receiving a few apologies before the day is out. Father just needs to talk to Cathal and me again first.”

  “Really?” Deirdre’s tone had changed abruptly. I thought she was almost in tears. “You really have proof that Illann wasn’t involved, something Father will accept? I can’t believe it. This has been so awful. It’s gone on so long. It’s as if they hate each other. I’ve tried hard to fix it, Clodagh; to make peace between them. But neither of them listens to me.”

  “Believe me,” I said grimly, “I know exactly how that feels. Deirdre, I’m nearly asleep and my hair’s filthy. Will you wash it for me, please?”

  “Brighid save us,” my sister said, giving me a close scrutiny.

  “And you were always the neat and tidy one. How did you get those cuts on your face?” She found the soap and a scoop, rolled up the sleeves of her fine gown and set to work.

  As she lathered and scrubbed, I gave her a brief version of the story. I said I was sorry I had not let her into my mind when she wanted to speak to me; I reminded her that she was the one who had first decided we should stop that form of communication. When my hair was clean, Deirdre wrapped a towel around my head, helped me out of the bath and into a nightrobe, then sat me in front of the mirror, in which she gazed at me critically.

  “If you’re getting married, you’ll be wanting something to help these cuts heal and fade as soon as possible,” she said. “I can’t believe Father agreed to it. A man who is only half human . . . You’re the last person I would expect to choose someone so—so unusual.”

  “Father hasn’t agreed, but he will. As for the cuts, Muirrin gave me a salve. I’ll dab it on while you comb my hair. That’s if you don’t mind doing it for me.”

  Deirdre picked up the comb. She was much calmer now. “I can’t believe it,” she muttered, half to herself. “It might all be over today, this whole nightmare between Father and Illann . . . Illann’s quite proud, Clodagh. Being under such suspicion has really tested him. And the southern chieftains seem all too ready to make the whole thing an excuse for stirring up more trouble. Until Illann started to confide in me, I never realized how complicated it all is. Don’t look so surprised. I am married to the man. I’ve tried my best to learn about that part of being a chieftain’s wife, just as you once suggested I should. I thought I was doing quite well. But this . . . it’s been awful. I hate to see Illann so unhappy.”

  It seemed I had underestimated my own twin. “Then let’s hope that he and Father sort it all out today, and that everyone learns from the experience,” I said. “I’ve missed you, Deirdre. I’m truly sorry I shut you out. I won’t do that again. If you need me, I’ll be there.”

  “Me, too,” said Deirdre. “Clodagh . . . Mac Dara. You actually met him in that place. It’s so strange. I mean, he’s a figure in stories; it’s hard to think of him as a real person.”

  He was real all right; as real as a nightmare and as close as the nearest shadow. “Are you nearly finished?” I asked her. “I can hardly keep my eyes open.”

  “Your hair’s going to dry terribly curly,” Deirdre said, “but I’ve got the worst tangles out. Clodagh, I can’t believe how brave you were to go and fetch Finbar back. And even braver to rescue this man of yours. I could never have done that. I’m sorry you’ll be living at Inis Eala. It’s so far away, we’ll hardly ever see each other.”

  I turned and put my arms around her. “I know, and I am sad about it,” I said. I would miss her. She would always be my twin, the sister with whom I shared a special bond. But I knew in my heart that the prospect of living on the island with the man I loved had quickly relegated the rest of my family to second place. My world had changed. Over the season since Johnny had brought Cathal to Sevenwaters, I had changed more than I could have believed possible.

  CHAPTER 17

  I had expected to fall into a death like slumber as soon as Deirdre left, but my thoughts kept spinning in circles and after a while, realizing I would not sleep, I rose and dressed again. I went to find my younger sisters, wanting to thank Sibeal once more for her help. Sibeal said there was no need for thanks; she had simply done what a sister should do. Eilis bombarded me with questions about my visit to the Otherworld.

  “Were there people with wings, Clodagh? What kind of horses did they have? And what about the food? In the stories it’s supposed to be so delicious that humans can’t stop themselves from eating it and then they have to stay there forever. Or they get back home and then pine away with longing because human food tastes like ashes.”

  “The only thing I tried was water from a stream,” I said, feeling as if I were a disappointment. “It doesn’t seem to have done me any harm.”

  “But what about Cathal?” Eilis was insistent. “You said he was there ages and ages. He must have eaten the food.”

  “Well, yes,” I said with some reluctance. “
But the rules would be different for him.”

  “Why—oh, you mean because he’s a sort of half and half?”

  “That’s right.”

  “And perhaps the reason Clodagh could drink the water safely,” put in Sibeal, “was that there’s one of the Old Ones in our ancestry, so even we have a little thread of the Otherworld in us.”

  This had not occurred to me, but alongside the other oddities of the last few days it sounded perfectly plausible.

  “Did you see Deirdre of the Forest?” Eilis asked.

  “No,” I said. “I thought I did, but it was someone else. Eilis, it may not be a good idea to talk about this too openly, not while there are so many visitors in the house.”

  “Can I talk to Coll about it?”

  “I doubt if you’ll be able to stop yourself,” I said dryly. “But not if any of Father’s guests are about, do you understand?”

  “Yes, Clodagh.” The compliant words were belied by her cheeky grin. Well, I supposed it would be an open secret soon enough, that one of Lord Sean’s daughters was marrying a man who was only half human. This would make it doubly important for Eilis to wed as well as Deirdre had, when her turn came. I wished her a man who would be suitable both in the eyes of the world and in hers.

  I went out into the courtyard, wondering whether Cathal, too, had found himself unable to sleep. Strolling down toward the stables, I remembered housing Willow in the little harness room during her visit to our home. I thought again of her strange tales and how I had been so slow to understand their true meanings. The clurichauns, the magical signs hidden in clothing, the significance of green; it should have alerted me to the importance of Cathal’s cloak with its cargo of talismans designed to protect him from his father. Instead, for a little I had believed it might mean he was a traitor. Wolf-child; I had seen Cathal in that tale from the first. I had recognized in it his chill awareness of being forever outside, forever different. As for the story of the fairy woman and her half-human daughter, the charm cast by Albha had been exact in its revelation of what awaited Cathal in the Otherworld. He had understood it; I had failed to do so until it was almost too late. And if I hadn’t left the hall halfway through the tale, perhaps I would have realized right at the start that even the most powerful of charms can be undone, if only one has the key.