Sevenwaters [06] Flame of Sevenwaters

by Juliet Marillier

  I had not thought it would be so far. As children, my sisters and I used to go up on the roof sometimes, though Mother frowned on it as unsafe. From our perilous perch the forest resembled a magical garment of every shade of green. It wrapped itself around the keep and shawled the shining expanse of the lake and stretched as far as the eye could see. Today, riding along a shadowy track that seemed all too ready to lose itself under the oaks, I could understand why outsiders found the place unsettling. It was said that the pathways through this forest had a habit of suddenly changing. A way that not long ago had led a traveler directly to the keep might now take him on a twisting, tangling route to nowhere. This odd phenomenon did not apply to the Sevenwaters family; for us, the paths led where they should. At least, that was the story.

  Rhian knew this tale from me, but it did nothing to dampen her excitement. She looked one way, then the other, her eyes shining, her cheeks flushed pink. Plainly she was hoping to spot a clurichaun under the trees or a sylph up in the branches. My sister Sibeal used to say that you saw such beings only when you weren’t looking for them. I did not know whether that was true, for I had never seen clurichaun or sylph, Fair Folk or Old Ones myself. Only, sometimes, I’d thought I glimpsed a gossamer creature darting through a sunbeam, or heard the shuffle of odd little feet in the ferns. No more than that.

  It took the rest of the day to reach the keep. We stopped by a stream to rest, and while the men were watering the horses Rhian broke the food she had brought into small pieces and wedged each in turn between the inflexible first and second fingers of my right hand so I could feed myself. Long practice had made us efficient at this, and I was done by the time the men returned. I’d have eaten quite happily in front of our grooms and men-at-arms, but doing so before my father’s guards was another matter.

  As we rode I considered what lay ahead. I pictured the stone walls of the keep, tall and grim. There had always been men-at-arms by the gateway, their tunics bearing the family emblem, two torcs interlinked, in blue on a white background. Within the gateway lay the courtyard, with stables and other outbuildings at the far side. My mind took me through the main door of the keep and into the living quarters. The grand dining hall housed several tables where family, guests and other members of the household all sat together to eat and be entertained in the evenings. There were musicians, storytellers, druids. Such visitors were often accommodated in the annex set within the walls but apart from the main building. To reach it, you went out the door from the kitchens and across the courtyard. But perhaps the annex wasn’t there any-more. Hadn’t someone told me, back when I was too sick to listen properly, that Father was having that whole building taken down? That, after the fire, he could not bear to look at it?

  “Are you still comfortable?” Rhian asked me as we rode down a steep track with a gushing stream to one side. The ferns that hugged its course were spangled with tiny droplets. It was the sort of place where my sisters and I had often played in the old days, floating leaf boats, building dams, picking herbs.

  “Comfortable, no,” I said. “I’m coping. How about you?”

  “I’m fine.” She shifted a little in the saddle. “But tired. I’ll be glad to get there.”

  “If they were expecting us to spend two nights at the inn, they may be surprised to see us today.”

  There was a silence; then Rhian said, “Your family will be delighted to see you, even though this must be a sad time for them.” This remark showed her uncanny ability to guess what I was thinking.

  “I hope so. And I hope they don’t assume I’m back for good.”

  She waited again before answering. “They’ll want that,” she said. “Didn’t you say all your sisters have moved away now, even Eilis?”

  “So I heard, though the news about Eilis sounded odd. She went to Galicia. That’s a long way.”

  “There will be lots of stories to tell,” Rhian said, and then, in quite a different voice, “Maeve?”

  “What?”

  “You’ll think I’m being silly.”

  “Tell me what it is and I can make up my own mind whether it’s silly.”

  “I keep seeing things. Or half-seeing them. Figures moving about under the trees, only when I look again they’re only shadows. And things flying that aren’t bats or birds.”

  I considered the stories my handmaid so loved to hear, full of quests and spells and beasts that changed into human folk. If anyone was going to turn a trick of the light into a dragon or a flying horse, it was Rhian.

  “Don’t you remember what I told you?” I kept my tone light. “The Sevenwaters family and those who travel with them are always safe in this forest. So even if you do see something, you need not worry about it. We must be nearly there by now; it’s almost dusk. Besides, you were the one who wanted to see clurichauns.”

  “This was much too big for a clurichaun.” Rhian’s voice was a whisper.

  “We’ll be fine.” I turned my head to look back at Swift. The yearling had his head down. Even he was tired. “How much farther?” I asked the man closest to us.

  “We’re almost there, my lady.”

  This was indeed so, for as we crested a little rise, the waters of the Sevenwaters lake appeared before us, pale and mysterious in the fading light. And there, across the broad and glimmering expanse, was the keep, its stone walls rising above a softening stand of trees. A banner flew atop the tower: the torcs of Sevenwaters. Many torches flared, and a sound of singing reached us across the water. On the far shore, where the sward ran down from the stone walls to the lakeside, I could just make out the figures of men and women standing in a great circle.

  Conor’s burial rite. We still had to ride a certain way around the shore, but it looked as if we were going to arrive right in the middle of it.

  We moved on. My stomach felt tight, my skin prickly with nervous sweat. Most likely my family were not expecting me to arrive until tomorrow. With no time to school their features, how would they look at me? Would I see their true feelings in their eyes? Was that what I feared? It came to me that it was possible to be afraid of your own fear, and that such a phenomenon was utterly ridiculous. I would think about Swift, and how good it was that he was close to a warm stable, a hearty feed and a rest. I wished he was not being sent on from Sevenwaters, to live among strangers.

  The track followed the lakeshore for a distance, then went back up under the trees. We emerged on level ground not far from the keep gates and were immediately halted by guards. As the men from the watchtower made their explanations, I saw that one face was familiar, even after so long.

  “Doran!” I exclaimed.

  “Lady Maeve!” Father’s chief man-at-arms came over to help me down, smiling. “Welcome home!” He eyed Swift with some curiosity.

  “I’m sorry if we have arrived at an inconvenient time,” I said. “The yearling needs to go straight to the stables.” That was the one priority there was no arguing with. “And either Emrys or Donal here—they are Uncle Bran’s grooms—must stay with him until Father knows the situation. Could you arrange that for us?”

  Doran took control with the ease of long practice; he was a trusted member of my father’s household, one of many loyal and capable retainers. When I was a child I had not thought the seamless running of my family home anything unusual. We’d all known our mother could be content only when her domain was perfectly ordered. I remembered the way she drilled us in sewing a faultless hem, in the intricacies of fine embroidery, in the baking of a perfect pie. In my case, that training had been wasted effort, since I would never perform any of those tasks now, even imperfectly.

  With remarkable swiftness grooms, guards and horses were despatched toward the keep. Rhian and I stood beside Doran, looking down the sward to the place where flaming torches illuminated the great circle of folk. A white-robed figure stood in the center, chanting in a clear voice.

  “I won’t go in until I’ve spoken to my father and mother,” I said quietly. “It doesn’t seem r
ight. But I can’t march down there in the middle of a burial rite, if that’s what it is.”

  “It’s hard to believe Master Conor is gone,” murmured Doran. “I think we all imagined he’d be here forever. He was buried earlier, Lady Maeve, out in the nemetons. This is more of a celebration. That’s what Master Ciarán said. Prayers for safe passing through the gateway, recognition of Conor’s life and his good deeds. That man was a great friend to folk, and a wise adviser to your father. He’ll be missed.” He fell silent, perhaps wondering whether he’d spoken out of turn.

  “I’ll wait here until they come back to the house,” I said. “Rhian, you must be exhausted. I’m sure Doran can find someone to take you in if you’d prefer that.”

  “I’ll wait with you, my lady.”

  Doran favored my handmaid with a smile. “Are you back for good, Lady Maeve?” he asked me.

  The tightness moved up to my chest. I could explain about Swift, of course, and why I’d finally come back after so long, but that was not a real answer to this question. I had better prepare one, since it would be asked over and over. “I’m not sure yet,” I told him.

  We waited, and while we did so I played a game: picking out anyone I could recognize, or half-recognize, in the circle down the hill. The torchlight added to the challenge, painting each face with a moving pattern of gold and shadow. I looked for my little brother first, as there were only a few children there. Finbar was seven; he’d be bigger than my cousin Fintan’s children back at Harrowfield, and his hair would either be red like my mother’s and mine, or dark like Father’s. Was he that lad putting up a hand to cover a yawn? Or the one bending to tie up a shoe that had come loose? The others were all girls, or too small…But wait. A boy was standing very still beside a figure in a long robe, perhaps a druid. Indeed, the child was unnaturally still, like a rabbit frozen in the fox’s stare. A white face; a mop of dark curls. Shoulders very straight. Hands behind his back. I could not see his features clearly, but that stance was all unease. Perhaps this was the first death Finbar had experienced. I felt a jolt of recognition, unexpected and not entirely welcome. My brother. My little brother.

  The druid who was conducting the ritual stretched out his arms and intoned a prayer. Fragments were carried to us on the evening breeze: “Fly with the west wind…Swim with the mysterious beasts of the ocean…Rise with the flame of renewal…” Ciarán, I thought, my skin prickling with the power of the words. Even if I had not recognized my other uncle, Conor’s half brother, by his dark red hair and his imposing height, I would have remembered that voice, full of dignity, deep and sure.

  “They say Ciarán will be chief druid now Conor’s gone,” Doran murmured. “He’s very much respected, both within the brotherhood and elsewhere.”

  “Maeve,” whispered Rhian, who was staring in fascination at the folk down the hill and had evidently forgotten we were not alone, “is that lady one of your sisters?”

  The lady in question was of short and slight build. Her hair was concealed under an elegant veil and she held her head regally high. Her arm was linked with that of a rather grand-looking man in a blue cloak. She was a younger version of my mother. “It must be Deirdre,” I said. “I don’t think any of the others would be here.” And as Doran confirmed that it was indeed Deirdre and that the man beside her was her husband, my father stepped out into the middle of the circle and passed something to Ciarán, perhaps marking the end of the ritual.

  Ten years. Deirdre had changed in that time and so had I. I had grown into a woman. I had learned hard lessons about myself and the world I must live in. I had become brave because the alternative was unthinkable. Now, as I gazed on the familiar, well-loved figure of my father, the wounded child within me stirred uneasily. I had been too sick to take in much during the time after the fire, when my eldest sister, Muirrin, was tending to me in the keep, before Aunt Liadan came to fetch me away. Day and night had been a blur of pain and terror: Muirrin’s white face and red eyes as she did what had to be done, changing the dressings, making me move my fingers; Mother’s voice, murmuring, It’s all right, Maeve. You’ll be all right, as if by repeating the words she could make them true; my sisters’ shocked, disbelieving faces when they were finally allowed in to see me. My cousin Fainne’s tight, closed features. And my father, overcome with grief and guilt, for he had rushed to the rescue, had saved my life, but he had come too late to prevent me from being burned. I knew how that felt; I had failed Bounder altogether. I had been too slow, and I had lost my best friend.

  The ceremony was over. Now the crowd was coming up the hill, following the path marked out by a double row of flaming torches. Folk carried oil lamps and candles in holders. Druids came quietly in their long robes, one or two in white, most in gray or blue, denoting the lower ranks of the order. With them walked serving men and women, farmers and grooms, richly dressed people who were perhaps visitors from the holdings to north and south of Sevenwaters, though the story I had heard about the Disappearance made me wonder how many friends my father still had among the chieftains of the region. There was a woman druid in a girdled robe. There was a group of children running back up the hill, and a little spotted dog doing its best to keep up. And now, moving at a more stately pace, here was my family.

  It was always going to be awkward. The circumstances made it more so: my parents surrounded by their distinguished visitors, the fading light, our arrival a day earlier than expected and at the time of the ritual for Uncle Conor. This must inevitably bring back a host of tangled memories. Best get it over with quickly.

  “Father,” I said, stepping forward as their party came up onto level ground, my father walking with Deirdre’s husband and two druids, my mother and sister in the group just behind them. “You may have seen us ride in. I—”

  There was no need for introductions. There was no need for anything. My father turned chalk white; then a blazing smile lit up his face. Tears glittered in his eyes. He took two strides forward and gathered me into an embrace. I had promised myself I would not weep. In the warmth of his arms, it was a hard promise to keep.

  “Maeve,” Father murmured. “My girl. You’ve come home.”

  By the time he released me, holding me at arm’s length as if to make sure I was real, others had gathered around us and a babble of excited conversation had broken out. Folk had seen us ride in but had assumed we were guests arrived late for the ritual. Here was my mother, hugging me in her turn; here was Deirdre, every inch a fine lady, kissing me on either cheek and introducing me to her husband, Illann, and her two children, each clutching the hand of an attentive nursemaid. Other folk were introduced, guests, attendants, druids. How would I remember all their names? My head was awash with them. A treacherous memory of my chamber at Harrowfield visited me, a chamber situated on the quietest side of that house, with a glazed window looking out over the garden. There had been children in that household, too, and servants, and visitors. But it had been possible to retreat. Everyone had understood my need to be alone.

  “You must be weary, Maeve. Is this your maidservant? Come, we’ll get you indoors at once. The house is quite full with our guests here for Conor’s farewell, but I’ve made sure your old chamber is ready for you.”

  That was my mother, leading me by the arm toward the keep, talking as she went, gesturing to various serving people at the same time. I noted their instant obedience.

  “Thank you, Mother. I am quite tired.”

  Father had been drawn aside by one of the druids, but his eyes were on me. Perhaps he feared I might vanish if he turned away. I managed a smile. Gods, he was exactly the same: his steady gaze, his strong features, his air of quiet control. There were more white threads in his hair now, and he looked tired. That was no surprise, what with the Disappearance and its aftermath. I wondered if he would be prepared to talk to me about such things, as Bran and Liadan had, or whether he might think it inappropriate to discuss matters of blood, death and peril with a daughter.

  “Maeve,
you look so well!” Deirdre came up on my other side, a big smile on her face under the pristine veil. A curl of red hair had escaped the linen and lay against her pale skin. “It’s wonderful to see you! There’s so much news—ten years of news—I hardly know where to start. Did you hear Eilis has gone to Galicia? Another of Father’s uncles lives there, and his daughter came over to see us, and…”

  “Deirdre, we must get Maeve indoors,” my mother said firmly. “Time enough for talk when she’s had a chance to rest. And you’ll be hungry, Maeve.”

  “Mother, I imagine you have a grand supper to preside over, with all these guests. I’d be happier if Rhian could bring me some food on a tray, to eat in my chamber. I am too weary to sit at the family table tonight.” After a moment I added, “I mean no disrespect to Uncle Conor; I remember him with affection. But I’m so tired I would probably disgrace you by falling asleep in the middle of the meal.”

  We were in the courtyard now and heading for the main steps. “Eithne!” Mother rapped out, summoning her own personal serving woman. “This is my daughter Maeve, and this is her maidservant—”

  “Rhian, my lady.” As she spoke, Rhian bobbed a little curtsy. This brought a smile to Mother’s lips.

  “Please show Rhian how the house is laid out, then ask Nuala to give her some supper on a tray for herself and my daughter. Maeve will be in her old sleeping quarters. And Rhian—”

  “Rhian will share with me,” I said. “She helps me with everything—eating, washing, dressing. I need her close by.”

  “Of course,” Mother said, and for a moment her gaze went to my clawed, useless hands. “Oh, Maeve.”

  I felt my jaw tighten. “We manage well,” I said, lifting my chin and looking her straight in the eye.

  “After ten years of your Aunt Liadan’s example,” Mother said quietly, “no doubt you manage very well indeed. Shall we go in?”