Seer of Sevenwaters

by Juliet Marillier

  “I think your faith is so strong,” I say, stumbling a little, “that some of it may have rubbed off on me. In your company I can no longer say outright that I do not believe in gods of any kind.”

  Sibeal brushes her hand against mine, sending a wave of desire through my body. To be so close to her, these days, is to suffer both delight and torment. I think she is quite unaware of what she does to me. “Say rather that you are still searching,” she tells me. “You’re on a journey, an interesting one full of possibilities. Full of opportunities for debate, for learning, for the development of the mind.”

  The boat is almost home. On the jetty a woman is jumping up and down with excitement, waving frantically, screaming Daigh! Daigh! A man leaps overboard, amid laughter, and swims for shore. The little dog is making a high-pitched yelping sound.

  “But first, another journey,” I tell Sibeal. “Also interesting, but in a somewhat different way.”

  “Are you scared?” she asks me.

  “To the marrow,” I say. “You?”

  “It will be better once the waiting is over.”

  “You didn’t answer the question. Perhaps a druid does not feel fear. Faith might outweigh any misgivings.”

  Sibeal gazes out toward the horizon, while down at the jetty, the swimmer is hauled up and enfolds his woman in a dripping embrace, to the accompaniment of cheers. A rope is thrown; Liadan is secured, and an extraordinary-looking warrior takes one long step from vessel to shore. Deiz leaps into his arms, to be cradled as if she were a baby.

  “I don’t think I was truly scared until I saw Liadan coming in,” Sibeal says. “Now it’s real, Felix. We’re actually going to do this, you and I.”

  I clasp her hand, discreetly. Once we are on the boat, all of us in uncomfortably close quarters, such a gesture will not be possible. And perhaps that is just as well. “Uncanny,” I murmur.

  “What is?”

  “How often we think the same thoughts.”

  “That is not uncanny, it’s . . . ” Her voice falters. Whatever she was going to say, she’s thought better of it.

  I could complete her sentence. It’s because we are the same. It’s because each of us is half of the other. It’s because we are a perfect fit. A pair. Made to be together. “So that’s the famous Snake,” I say, watching the tall man on the jetty with the wriggling, licking white bundle in his arms. Snake’s hair is cropped stubble-short. He has an intricate pattern graven all across his brow, and marks like broad twisted bracelets on the skin of his wrists. Over his tunic he wears a garment that appears to be fashioned from a serpent’s skin. I am reminded that our journey involves a sea monster, and wish I had not thought of it.

  There are others disembarking now, bundles being unloaded, folk hugging, men hoisting children onto their shoulders. Snake puts the dog down to throw his arms around Gull’s shoulders, then Johnny’s, and to exchange friendly punches with several other men. Deiz scampers about at ankle level, yapping.

  “That’s Snake,” Sibeal says. “One of a kind. He’s an old friend of Gull’s, from the earliest times. The very big man with the dark beard is Wolf, another of the original Painted Men. He’s a Norseman. The one in the blue shirt is Sigurd. And that young man there is my cousin Cormack, Johnny’s brother.”

  Cormack has seen us and is bounding up the path, his face wreathed in smiles. He is like Johnny, yes; but not quite like. He’s taller, thinner, livelier, without the reserve and composure that make Johnny seem older than his years. This man is close to my own age. From his keen eyes to his well-muscled arms to the long legs that take the hill in their stride, Cormack is every inch a warrior. He reminds me of my many deficiencies as a man.

  “Sibeal!” He’s beaming. He seizes Sibeal around the waist, lifts her off the ground and whirls her around a couple of times, then sets her back down with a smacking kiss on the cheek. “Morrigan save us, you have grown up since I last saw you! You’d be the image of Mother if it weren’t for those eyes of yours. And I suppose this scowling fellow is your jealous sweetheart.” He turns toward me, and I cannot think of anything to say to him.

  Sibeal is laughing. She’s flushed scarlet. “This is Felix,” she says. “A scholar. From Armorica. Felix, this is my cousin Cormack.” Suddenly serious, she adds, “There’s a lot to tell you, Cormack. Too much for now. Welcome home. I’m happy that you’re safe.”

  Perhaps I am jealous. Not in the way he meant it, but jealous of Sibeal’s family, her sisters, her cousins, even those like Gull and Biddy who are family at one remove. There is a strength in their love for one another, something deep and sure. She has five sisters and a brother; Johnny, three brothers. I only had Paul. I can be brave.

  “Walk back with me,” Cormack says, and I’m sure he doesn’t mean me.

  “I’ll stay here awhile,” I tell Sibeal. Her eyes see right to the heart of me. She nods understanding. Cormack drapes his arm around her slender shoulders and they walk off toward the settlement. Jealous sweetheart. I am not even that. I am the man who loves her more than life itself. And I am the acquaintance of a single summer.

  ~Sibeal~

  With the efficiency that was part of everything on Inis Eala, the boat was ready within a few days of her return. Men swarmed over her, busy from sunrise to sunset, while in the net-mending shed a group of industrious women patched an area of the sail that had sustained some damage. The supplies that had been prepared while we waited for the boat included materials to deal with all manner of possible damage at sea. I hoped we would not need them.

  Even I had doubted that Felix could be strong enough for the voyage so quickly, though I had not told him so. But he had worked with the determination of a man preparing for battle. From dawn till dusk each day he prepared himself for the task ahead, only resting when Gull ordered him to do so. Under Evan’s supervision he gradually increased his diet to include meat, fish, bread, the things that had been forbidden. It was not only the healers who helped him now, but many others as well. I would see him out walking with Kalev; I would come across Felix and Cathal seated in a quiet corner, deep in intense conversation. I saw Gareth, Felix and a small group of other men on the path from the jetty one morning, going up and down the steep slope with packs on their backs. They gradually increased the pace until the upward slope was taken at a jog. And there was Felix, maintaining the same speed as the others, though I noticed Gareth was keeping a close eye on him. At the top of the path there was no fuss, simply a nod of acknowledgment from Gareth, an equal recognition of each man’s effort.

  While Felix was so intent on his recovery, there was little time for me to see him alone, and perhaps that was just as well. His presence affected me oddly these days. When he was close I found it hard to concentrate on anything. My mind had a troubling tendency to revisit that afternoon when he had held me in his arms while I soaked his shirt with my tears. I wanted that closeness again. In his embrace I had felt like a wandering creature returned to its home field. At the same time I had felt full to the brim with life, as if I were on the brink of a great adventure. Not the adventure we faced now, with its cold seas and long-toothed monster. An adventure that was between man and woman; a secret and remarkable journey that was forever denied to me.

  With all the druidic skills I had acquired over the years, the fact that I could not quickly banish these feelings made me doubt myself. It made me ashamed. I might have spoken to Clodagh, who was a good listener, but after the divination something had changed between the two of us. She was perfectly courteous in public. In private she was avoiding me. Any time I referred to the voyage in her presence, she went silent. As for Cathal, he had not sought me out again, and I had decided I’d been wrong to think he would consider coming with us. After all, neither Gareth nor Johnny had spoken of the possibility, and it was far too late now to volunteer. So why were both Cathal and Clodagh looking as folk might look in the face of a looming disaster? Had Cathal seen a vision of Liadan sinking with all hands?

  The day befo
re our departure, Clodagh came to see me late in the afternoon. I was in my little chamber, going through my meager store of belongings for the twentieth time, trying to match the small size of bundle allowed on the boat with what I might need for the range of possibilities that lay ahead. Rune rods or a second warm shawl? Ceremonial herbs or a roll of linen in case I had my monthly courses before we got home? And what about Svala, who might also need the linen but would likely not think of it? She knew we were leaving in the morning; I had made that clear to her earlier, showing her the sun passing across the sky, the time of sleep, the dawn rising, the boat setting out. In the fisherman’s hut, the items of clothing she had been given by Biddy and others had lain carelessly heaped in a corner, along with a kettle, a ladle and a jug. I had seen no sign of packing.

  Clodagh did not come through the infirmary, but tapped on my door. “Sibeal, I need to talk to you.”

  I let her in, and with her I let in a wave of anxiety. “What’s wrong?” I asked, setting aside the awkwardness that had lain between us. I motioned for her to sit beside me.

  Clodagh lowered herself slowly onto the bed. She glanced toward the curtain and lifted her brows.

  “Evan’s gone over to the practice yard to bind up a wound,” I said. “Gull’s out somewhere with Felix. And Muirrin’s feeling sick. She’s gone to rest.”

  Clodagh was as solemn as I had ever seen her. “I need a favor, Sibeal,” she said.

  I kept working, attempting to fold a garment with the same degree of precision as she herself might use. “Go on,” I said.

  “I want you to find Cathal and talk to him in private. I think he’s at the seer’s cave again. This is tearing him apart, Sibeal. He needs help, and this time I don’t seem to be able to give it.”

  Whatever I had expected, it was not this. “If I ask questions about the voyage now, will you answer them?”

  She simply looked at me. I could see she had been crying.

  “I’ve been thinking perhaps he feels he should come with us, out of the same kind of family obligation that made Gull volunteer,” I said. “I did wonder if you were upset that night because Gull put his hand up, and you thought that meant Cathal would be next. I understand all the reasons why he shouldn’t come, Clodagh. I’d never suggest he leave the island, even though he has some abilities that could make all the difference out there. Nobody expects him to risk his whole future on another man’s mission.”

  Clodagh grimaced. “Isn’t that what everyone in the crew will be doing?”

  “You could put it that way, yes. But nobody else has Mac Dara to contend with.”

  “You think we’ve been fighting because he wants to go and I’m trying to stop him,” she said.

  “The two of you have been looking somewhat tense for the last few days. That seemed to me the most likely explanation. You should have talked to me sooner, Clodagh. It’s my job to help when things are difficult.”

  “I’m not consulting you as a spiritual adviser, Sibeal.” She gave a crooked smile. “I’m talking to you as my sister. You’re wrong about this. Certainly, Cathal understands that his presence could be immensely helpful on the voyage. Indeed, if he’d volunteered at the start it could have saved Gareth from needing to go, since Cathal could have led the expedition. But he says he won’t go. He’s not afraid for himself. He can’t bear the thought of me and the child left on our own, at Mac Dara’s mercy, should anything happen to him.”

  My hands went on folding and packing away, while my mind reeled in shock. “You’re saying that Cathal doesn’t want to go, and that you want him to do it?”

  “I want you to be as safe as you can be,” my sister said quietly. “Believe me, I’m horrified at the thought of his going. Ask any of the women how she feels about her man risking his life on this venture, and she’ll tell you she wishes your wretched Felix had never come to the island to spark the men’s imagination with his crazy rescue mission. Ask her what she thinks of her man’s choice to be part of it, and she’ll tell you she’s so proud of him her heart might burst with it. That’s all part of loving a man, Sibeal, something you’ll never really understand. Of course I don’t want Cathal to go. I want him here, safe. I want him to be able to hold his baby on the day it’s born. But I believe he needs to go. I know the crew are experienced, brave, strong, able to deal with all manner of crises. But they can’t do what Cathal can. None of them has any ability in magic. If Mac Dara is involved, the rest of you will have no protection at all. I don’t want you to go, Sibeal. You’re my little sister. I don’t want Gull to go, though I hate the idea of Evan going even more—that would be too cruel for Muirrin. But it’s decided, and you’re going. If Cathal is with you, at least I’ll know I’ve done everything I can to keep you safe.”

  My eyes were suddenly full of tears. It was the most selfless decision I could imagine, and typical of Clodagh.

  “Don’t cry, Sibeal,” my sister said. “Go and find him. Tell him I really mean it. Tell him you believe I will be safe until he gets home. Women have babies all the time. And Mac Dara can’t reach me here.”

  No, but he will be able to reach Cathal the moment we sail out of the bay. “Are you sure?”

  “I’m quite sure. We’re fettered by our fear of Mac Dara. His influence governs our every thought. We’ve talked about it, and we both feel the same. It’s wrong. It’s letting Mac Dara win. We’ve gone over and over it, and now Cathal’s in such a state of guilt and confusion that he won’t listen to me anymore. I think he’ll listen to you.”

  Gods, this was fraught with peril. If I managed to persuade him, and then he was killed . . . If he came with us and failed to protect me from harm . . . If we both sailed away, and came home to find that Clodagh had died in childbirth . . .

  “Go now, please, Sibeal,” Clodagh said. “I’ll finish your packing. I can fit twice as much in that bag. It’s all in the folding.”

  It was late in the day, and the seer’s cave was full of soft light: violet, lavender, gray. Shades of sadness. Cathal had spread out his cloak and was sitting on it, not scrying, simply gazing straight ahead of him. On his troubled features I saw the shadow of a far older man.

  I sat down at a little distance.

  “Clodagh sent you,” he said after a while.

  “She asked me to talk to you, yes. I wish she’d done so somewhat earlier. My chances of changing your mind are not great, one day before we leave.”

  “True. I can’t imagine why she thought you could do what she cannot.”

  Cathal’s tone was scathing. I was tempted to get up and walk out, but I swallowed my annoyance. You’ll never really understand, Clodagh had said. I must use what limited understanding I had to reach him. I owed it to her.

  “You know, I suppose, how much courage it has taken for Clodagh to decide that you should go,” I said.

  “I don’t need to hear this.”

  I drew a deep breath. “You will hear it, Cathal. That choice is based on love; nothing more, nothing less. She’s putting her own wishes aside to do what’s right for everyone she cares about. Me, you, Gull, Johnny, your child yet unborn. Love will govern Clodagh’s choices, always. That’s the woman you married. If you do as she asks, you honor the woman she is.”

  He did not so much as blink an eyelid. I might as well not have been there.

  “Besides,” I said, “deep down you’re like all the other warriors. Their hearts were captured by this mission: loyalty beyond terror, survival beyond endurance. Don’t tell me part of you isn’t longing to rush to those men’s rescue.”

  I thought he might turn on me in a fury after that; his face was full of darkness. I sat quietly, watching the still water. I waited. The silence drew on and on.

  “Sibeal,” said Cathal, and his voice was not angry at all, but sounded more as if he were choking back tears, “how can this be the right choice for our child?”

  “You ask the most difficult of all the questions. Clodagh believes that to stay here, to remain forever within
the safe margin, is allowing Mac Dara to govern your existence. Keeping out of your father’s reach is living in a kind of prison. That’s what she implied. A druid might debate that issue at considerable length and not reach a conclusion one way or another. But that is the pattern of Clodagh’s thinking, and who is to say she’s wrong?”

  “We’ve talked about this already. Endlessly. We’ve gone through all the arguments.”

  “She says that at a certain point you stopped listening to her.”

  Cathal picked up a handful of small stones and threw them into the pool with some violence. The calm surface shivered under the impact. “What she wants feels wrong,” he said. “How can I leave them? But it also feels right. There is indeed a part of me that wants to go. I cannot make a choice. I came here to scry one last time before Liadan sails, and I can’t do it, Sibeal. I came prepared with several appropriate questions relating to the likelihood of Otherworld interference on the journey. But Clodagh and the child fill all my thoughts. Sibeal, how can I go away? The baby might be born any day now.”

  “If your mind is made up, why are you here?”

  He glanced at me. “You’re a druid today,” he said, making it sound like something bad.

  “I only ask the questions that must be asked. Does Gareth know there’s a possibility you may go? Does Johnny?”

  “I suppose my state of mind has been easy to read, these last days. I was relieved of responsibility for training the Connacht men soon after the crew was named, even though my name was not on the list.” He thought for a moment, then added, “Sibeal, I understand that much of druidic lore and teaching is secret. It would help me if you could explain the extent of your own abilities. I know Ciarán has a certain facility with magic, born as much of his lineage as of his druidic training. I know he is your mentor. And Felix said you did something with the fire, that night when Knut attacked him.”