Seer of Sevenwaters

by Juliet Marillier

  Felix bent to say something—the only way he could make himself heard over the wind and the waves was to put his mouth close to my ear. “I’ll hold on to you, Sibeal. I won’t let you go, I promise.”

  He put his arm around me, and although the sea was immense and the gale was mighty, I was reassured. I slipped one arm around his waist; my other hand would not release its death grip on the rail. For a moment my head was against his chest, and it seemed to me that under the filthy, wet wool of his tunic I could feel his heart beating, steady and sure. “I know,” I said. “I won’t let you go, either.”

  For a while I repeated passages of the lore in my head. When I no longer had the strength for that, I simply stood where I was, knowing that without the warmth of Felix’s body close to mine and the knowledge of his hope beating into me, I would be scuttling back to the hold to huddle in a pathetic ball among the baggage, wishing I had never set out on such an ill-conceived journey.

  At some point I heard a series of sharp commands. The sail crackled. Liadan shuddered, then settled into a barreling, forward course.

  “The wind’s changed, Sibeal,” Felix murmured in my ear. “You were right.”

  “Mm,” I managed. It was indeed remarkable. The gods had smiled on us and should be thanked. But I was beyond summoning even the simplest of prayers.

  For what felt like hours we stood there on the shifting deck, holding onto each other, watching as Svala balanced strong and confident in the prow and the crew toiled to exert a measure of control over the racing Liadan. There had been some uneasy looks after the wind changed, for sailors have a well-founded dread of the uncanny. But nobody made comment; they were too busy. Eventually, through the howl of the wind and the crash of the water, I heard a man shout: “Land! Land ahead!”

  Svala stretched out her arms as if reaching for something that lay before us. She threw back her head and released an ear-splitting scream. And from the north a sound came, a bellowing that sent a chill up my spine. Felix started as if someone had hit him. It was an uncanny cry, deep and sad, a sound so profoundly strange that no words could fully capture it. Svala had called. Someone—something—had answered.

  I saw the island. It loomed ahead, alone in the wild seas, a bastion of darkness fringed by white water, a towering fortress of sharp pinnacle and sheer cliff with no visible landing place. I could see no entry to a secret bay, no break in those improbably high bulwarks, no smaller isles nearby that might furnish a mooring.

  Felix muttered words in his native tongue, most likely an oath. Gareth gave a series of orders and the crew scrambled to obey. Sigurd was on the steering oar; a second man went to help him. The rowing oars were readied. If the approach to the serpent isle was as Felix had described it, the men would need to maneuver Liadan through a narrow channel to reach sheltered water. Crewmen stood ready to lower the sail. All was steady purpose.

  “I can’t believe it,” Felix said. “But here we are.”

  The eldritch bellowing sound came again, rattling my very bones. And closer at hand, someone was scrambling along the narrow way beside the open hold, a frantic figure shouting out a tirade of furious Norse. I did not understand Knut’s words, but my mind reeled from the power of his feelings—rage, terror, the utter panic that attends a recognition of impending doom. No! Not in there! I won’t go back, I can’t, I can’t—

  Every crewman on deck was occupied in sailing the ship. Gareth shouted, “Stop! What are you doing, man?” but Knut continued his wild progress along the vessel, scrambling ever closer to the forward deck where Felix and I were standing not far from the oblivious Svala. I could almost smell his fear. As he passed a crewman whose hands were busy adjusting a rigging block, Knut snatched a knife from the man’s belt.

  Felix grabbed me and shoved me behind him with my back to the rail. Knut was on the tilting foredeck now, fighting to keep his balance, his features like a grim war mask. “Ill luck man!” he shouted in Irish, taking a labored step toward us. “You bring fear! You bring death! A curse on you!” Another step. Felix tensed. Knut had the knife up before him, ready to strike. He moved to take the step that would bring him close enough, but Felix was quicker. He let go of me, sprang forward and kicked out in the space of an instant. Caught unbalanced, Knut toppled and crashed to the deck. Felix backed, arms out, shielding me once more. Knut snarled like a wounded animal, struggling to get up. His eyes were on Felix, and the word they spoke was death.

  “Svala!” I squeaked in a voice too faint to be heard above a gentle breeze, let alone this wild gale.

  But she whirled around. In two long strides she was beside us and hooking her fingers through the cord encircling Knut’s neck. She yanked hard; he wheezed in pain as the narrow strip of hide dug in, cutting off his breath. Svala hauled him up bodily. His face turned purple; his eyes bulged. He was going to die right in front of us. No, I whispered, that wasn’t what I meant you to do. Or perhaps I only thought it. Peering around Felix, I knew I could do nothing to stop whatever was about to unfold.

  She held him a moment, the strength of her arm formidable, and her face was indeed that of a goddess, stern in her judgment. Something had changed; his presence no longer cowed and frightened her. The cord snapped, and Knut collapsed to the deck. Set free, the talisman graven with Eolh flew through the air, tumbling on its way, and fell into the sea. Svala touched the frayed cord to her lips in an oddly tender gesture, then tucked it into her bodice. To my astonishment, I saw a tear spill from her eye and roll down her perfect cheek.

  Now here was Cathal on the deck beside us, lifting the wheezing Knut, dragging him away. Sigurd came up to help; together they conveyed the Norseman below. Svala had turned back toward the north. No screaming now, no singing, no calling. She stood calm and quiet.

  “All right?” Felix asked, somewhat breathlessly.

  “Mm. You?”

  “In one piece. Sibeal, you’d be better down in the hold for this last part. It’s—a little dangerous.”

  Laughter welled up in me. It owed more to sheer terror than amusement. “I thought you once said you’d always tell me the truth,” I managed.

  “This, now, is frightening,” Felix said, and there was no trace of laughter in his voice. “But the passage between the rocks is . . . different. And there’s . . . ”

  There’s what lies beyond, I thought. The monster. “I know,” I said. “But I’m not going down in the hold with Knut, even if they’ve tied him up.” It was the first time I had seen a man crazed by fear. With difficulty I summoned a confident tone. “This is the very best crew we could have. They’ll get us through.”

  “We’re almost there, Sibeal,” Felix murmured, wrapping his arms around me. His warmth flooded into me once more; my heart lifted. “We could find them before sunset. We could be on our way home tomorrow. I’ll owe you a debt for the rest of my life.”

  “Don’t say that.” Oh, this felt good. Here on the deck, with Liadan plowing ahead through heaving seas and the air full of salt spray, with the unforgiving rocks of the serpent isle drawing closer and closer, for a moment or two I felt as safe as I had ever felt in my life. “Your courage made this possible. Your hope kept the mission alive. Without you, nobody would have come to the rescue.”

  “My courage is your courage, Sibeal. My hope is your hope. You led me out of my own Yeun Ellez, the place of mist and shadow.”

  I closed my eyes, holding on, wishing the moment would last forever. Fix this in your memory, Sibeal. Lock it up well, for it is rare beyond price.

  As we approached the island, both Gareth and Cathal came up to stand on the foredeck beside us.

  “Ask Svala where the entry is, Sibeal,” Gareth said. “I’d hoped Knut would be able to show us, but he’s not making any sense.”

  There was no need to ask. As the sail came down and Liadan advanced cautiously under oars, Svala pointed with complete confidence to what appeared to me a sheer, unbroken wall of stone. That way.

  “Manannán have mercy,” Cathal s
aid. “Can you see anything?”

  “Not a break anywhere. Sibeal, can you—”

  Gareth broke off. Svala had turned. Her lovely eyes widened as she looked past us, along the boat. She hissed, a sound of outrage. I followed her gaze to see crewmen passing up spears, bows and throwing knives from the hold.

  The hiss became a flood of sounds, not the warbling songlike speech of better times, but a furious, shrieking challenge. Her anger filled me; I staggered with the force of it, and Felix had to grab my arm to stop me from falling.

  “No weapons,” I gasped. “Tell the men to put them back. If you want her to show you the way in, do as I say.”

  “Dagda’s britches, Sibeal,” protested Gareth, “there’s a man-eating monster through there!”

  Everything began to turn around me; my vision filled with spots. “No weapons,” I murmured, swaying. I clutched onto Felix, willing myself not to faint.

  “Put the weapons away!” Gareth shouted. “Gods help us, you’d better be right about this. Any sign of an opening yet?”

  Surely we were too close to land. I could see shawls of weed on the rocks, and ledges higher up where gannets might nest. Gull was shouting commands to the oarsmen. Their faces were red with effort, their bodies straining hard. We will not founder, I said to myself, as if repeating the words might make them true. We will not be wrecked. We will find the way.

  “There!” Felix was pointing ahead. And there it was: a narrow opening, visible only as a subtle variation in the gray of the rocks.

  “Pull!” yelled Gull, moving to a position beside Sigurd and his helper. “Pull!”

  I thought of a childhood game my sisters had often played at Sevenwaters. We would find a stream in spring spate, with cliffs and waterfalls and rapids all in miniature. We’d float ships of bark and leaf down this watercourse to see whose vessel would come first to the pool at the bottom. I saw myself sitting under an oak, watching as the others shrieked and ran and got their gowns soaking wet. Now we were in one of those fragile craft, and this was our own rapid, a turbulent mass of water churned by currents that were surely too violent and wayward to be conquered by the strength of a mere eight men rowing. We will not founder. We will not be wrecked.

  Liadan skirted the rocks, approaching the place where a narrow inlet opened in the cliff face. A heaving body of white water filled the channel, swirling and eddying one way, then another. Gull shouted commands; Liadan shuddered as the oarsmen fought to guide her through the center. Above Gull’s steady voice came Svala’s, ululating high and strong, ringing off the rocks above us, as if a hundred wild women sang the song of our passage. From the other end of the channel came an answering roar. Between the rock walls we coursed, their weathered surfaces rushing past not two arm’s lengths from us.

  “Hold fast, men!” called Gareth.

  “Ship oars!” shouted Gull, and the crew obeyed. Liadan surged forward like flotsam before a spring tide and shot out into the waters of the bay. When I could breathe again, I murmured a prayer. “Manannán be blessed. We give thanks.” I realized I was clinging to Felix like a barnacle to its rock, and stepped back, releasing him. Here within the protective barrier of stone the water looked perfectly calm. Liadan moved forward, the crew rowing with precision, though their faces were white. Those who were not rowing stood in their places, eerily silent. Only Gull moved, coming to join us on the foredeck.

  Svala’s cry had ceased. Her gaze moved around the bay as if to drink in every corner of the bleak landscape. And it was indeed bleak: the picture I had formed in my mind, hearing Felix’s story, was nothing to what I saw now. It was a nightmare vista in which everything seemed exaggerated. The high slopes were impossibly sheer, the lower reaches a tumble of misshapen stones like crouching monsters, all sharp edges and sudden holes. The bay or inlet was bigger than I had pictured it, a long, curving expanse of sheltered water with one patch of pebbly beach. I could not see a single bush or tree or clinging piece of foliage anywhere. Not a strip of weed; not a blade of grass; not a stunted, desperate plant. “It’s like a place abandoned by the gods,” I whispered.

  “Perhaps there are different gods,” said Felix.

  And all the time we were waiting, waiting. Everyone had heard Felix’s tale now. Everyone knew what came next.

  “Row for shore!” Gareth called, and his voice was an intrusion in this empty place. It did not belong here. None of us did. The oarsmen obeyed the captain, and Liadan glided across the still water toward the narrow strip of pebbles.

  Svala made a little chirruping sound. Looking out, I saw a widening patch of turbulence on the water’s surface, a shoal of small fish, or maybe larger fish, or maybe very big fish indeed—

  It rose in a shimmering burst of green-blue scales, rearing so high it blocked the sun, towering over us. The oarsmen froze; their blades went everywhere, clattering. The creature was huge, longer than Liadan, its girth massive. Its eyes shone like dark gems; its long jaws were studded with serrated, purposeful teeth. We stood stunned, silent. The weapons would have been no use at all; a pinprick to a wild boar.

  Gull recovered first. “Pull!” he shouted, striding back along the walkway toward the stern, where Sigurd stood immobile, hands on the steering oar, shocked eyes on the monster. “Put your backs into it! What do you think this is, a leisurely fishing trip?”

  Svala chirruped again, and the creature came down, its fore-quarters plunging into the water on our port side, its body snaking, its tail rising to smack the surface once, twice, three times. Celebrating, I thought crazily as I ducked to avoid a soaking. It’s celebrating her return with drumming and dancing. Liadan rocked wildly, her deck tilting one way, the other way. The creature was making a storm all by itself, cavorting around the boat, diving and leaping. On the prow, Svala laughed and clapped her hands.

  The thing swam away; I breathed and stood upright once more. Thank the gods, it was going to let us reach the shore. In my mind I saw Svala on the beach at Inis Eala, making her great sand creature, touching him with loving hands, displaying him to me in all his splendor. Singing him songs. Sitting by his side as the tide came to claim him. Hard as it was to believe, it seemed the man-eating monster was her friend. It—he—was glad we had delivered her home.

  The creature dived beneath the surface and was gone. The water settled, calm as before. There was no ripple, no disturbance, nothing to show it had been there. Only the blanched faces and shocked eyes of Liadan’s crew, and the thunderous beating of my heart.

  “What are you, men or mice?” roared Gull. “Pull, you useless sons of vermin!”

  They gripped their oars. They pulled. The shore drew closer.

  I felt it a moment before it happened, as if fate tapped my shoulder with a cold finger. The water swirled, and like a missile from some giant’s catapult the creature leaped up, high into the air, right over Liadan, so close I saw the cunning pattern of interlocking scales on its belly, so close I thought the mast would snap, so close I was sure it would crush us. In a heartbeat it was down again, plunging head first back into the water on the other side of the boat. A surge of water crashed over Liadan, flooding into the hold. And where Gull had been standing on the walkway, now there was nobody at all.

  A moment’s stunned silence. Then men moved, tearing off their boots and scrambling for the rail. A scream welled up in me.

  “Wait!” yelled Gareth. “Nobody jump—that thing’s still in there! Man your oars!”

  I was cold to the bone. What was he saying, that Gull should be left to drown? “We have to save him!” I shouted. “Gareth, someone has to go in after him!”

  But Gareth was silent, jaw set, eyes on the shore. I didn’t understand. Had this mission made him into a different man, one who could let an old friend die without a second thought?

  Be calm, Sibeal. Think of a solution. Cathal. He was right here. He could calm the water, he could—I saw that he was already at the rail, arms outstretched, looking out over the place where Gull had vanished and spe
aking words in a tongue unknown to me. Thank the gods. Thank all the gods Cathal had come with us.

  Gareth gave another order; the oars stilled. Time passed, time measured in the frantic drumbeats of my heart. In the water below us, nothing stirred. Cathal called again, his voice powerful and ringing. The only answer was silence.

  He lowered his arms and turned toward us. His face was a mask in pale stone. “I can’t do it,” he said. “There’s a force here, a contrary force . . . something is blocking me.” His voice cracked. “I can’t save him.”

  “But—” I began, then realized I had forgotten something. Svala was the monster’s friend. She had called and he had answered. “Svala, help us!” I grabbed hold of her arm, hoping she would feel my desperation as I had once felt hers. She turned her lovely gray eyes on me, but made no move. “Please, Svala! The sea beast is your friend, surely you can do something—” Oh, gods, this couldn’t be happening.

  A flurry of movement behind me. “No!” shouted Gareth and Cathal together. I couldn’t move; I couldn’t breathe. For, of course, there was one man on board who was not a member of the crew, one man who might, at an extreme, disobey the captain’s orders. Felix was astride the rail. He steadied himself, brought his other leg over, then dived, straight as an arrow, into the bay. The waters closed over him, and he, too, was gone. Gone in a heartbeat. Gone between one breath and the next. Gone as if he had never been.