Sevenwaters [06] Flame of Sevenwaters

by Juliet Marillier

  Time passed. Rhian finished her hem and Orlagh offered her a shirt to mend. With the torn garment in her hands, Rhian looked over at me suddenly. “Oh, but perhaps I should do this tomorrow,” she said. “Lady Maeve, didn’t you promise you’d take your brother to see Swift this morning?”

  I suppressed a relieved smile. Later, I would thank her for saving me. “How could I have forgotten? I should go now or he’ll be disappointed. Rhian, stay here if you wish—I won’t need you for a while.” I rose to my feet. “Mother, where will I find Finbar at this time of day?” I hoped she would not say Finbar was closeted with his tutor and unable to do anything so frivolous as visiting the stables.

  My mother’s look was somewhat quizzical, and I realized I had underestimated her powers of observation. “I can’t tell you,” she said with a little smile, “but I know Nuala’s making honey cakes this morning, and both my son and his tutor are extremely fond of cakes. You may find them in the vicinity of the kitchen. Their lessons are conducted in the little room next to your father’s council chamber—you remember, where the scribe used to work.”

  “Used to? What happened to him?”

  “Luachan is very skilled. He took over those duties when he came to teach Finbar. Of course, such a little boy does not need formal lessons all day.”

  “A man of many parts,” I said mildly. “Luachan, I mean.”

  “All children ask questions,” Deirdre put in with a smile. “That’s what one expects. But Finbar asks questions all day. Luachan is a good teacher for him. I’ve noticed druids generally answer questions with more questions.”

  “Finbar missed Eilis terribly when she first went away,” Mother said. “Sibeal, too, though he was younger then. A child does not like to see his world change. Sibeal had a particular understanding of him. Luachan has similar insights. And he keeps Finbar occupied. My son is best not left too much alone.”

  This intrigued me, but I would not ask her to explain further in this company. “Luachan seems a courteous man,” I said. “I’d best go now, Mother. Rhian, you could come and find me at the stables when you’re finished here. There’s no rush.”

  “Maeve.” Mother spoke as I turned to leave.

  “Yes, Mother?”

  “I hope that in time you’ll sit with us in the dining hall for your meals. Rhian can sit at the family table and help you, if that is required.” After a moment she added, more quietly, “But I understand you may feel a little awkward about it, and of course it can wait until you’re ready.”

  A strange anger stirred in me. Never mind that this was exactly what I wanted, time to feel my way in my parents’ house, time for their people to get used to me. Mother did not know me. She could not know what I wanted. She had sent me away, and I had come home a different person. It wasn’t kindness and understanding that made her say these things, but embarrassment. She didn’t want her claw-handed daughter at the family table, making an exhibition of herself before the fine guests who had stayed on after Conor’s ritual.

  “No need to wait,” I heard myself saying in a voice that carried beyond my mother and sister to the circle of women, all of whom were busily pretending not to be listening. “I’ll be happy to join you this evening. I will need Rhian. Please ask them to make a place for her beside me. Without her help, I don’t eat tidily.”

  “You sat at the family table in your aunt’s house, then?” Mother’s voice was full of words unspoken, hurts that had been nurtured over those ten years.

  “I was there a long time, Mother. Of course I sat at the family table. It would not have occurred to Aunt Liadan to do things any other way. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must go and find Finbar.”

  I walked out of the chamber without looking back.

  CHAPTER 4

  M y brother and his tutor were not in their study chamber, or in the kitchens consuming cake, or anywhere to be found, so I went to visit Swift on my own. That was just as well. I was wound tight as a harp string and not fit company for anyone. As I walked over to the stable yard I made myself breathe slowly. I should be able to do this. I should be able to sit in a room with a group of women and have a polite conversation with my own mother and sister. It wasn’t as if the place was unfamiliar. My sisters and I had plied our needles there day after day under our mother’s eagle eye, learning the skills that would make us fit wives for chieftains or princes. But it was hard, harder than Mother could imagine, to sit idle amid such industry. Rhian had seen it and had presented me with a perfect excuse to leave. Why hadn’t Mother left well alone? Maybe she thought she was doing me a favor. Maybe she thought I wanted her to act as if nothing had changed. That was half-true: I hated fuss. Yes, at Harrowfield I had sat at the family table, and nobody had taken a bit of notice when Rhian fed me, because it was simply the way things were. Here, it would be different.

  I paused to stroke the forehead of an old mare that was housed at the far end of the stables. She nuzzled close, expecting a treat. “What a disappointment I must be to her,” I murmured. “But Deirdre married a chieftain and Clodagh a prince—what mother wouldn’t be satisfied with that? Though I imagine a prince of the Otherworld is somewhat less desirable as a son-in-law than the ordinary kind. But then, Muirrin married a healer and Sibeal a scholar. And I won’t marry at all. Perhaps Eilis will find a king’s son in Galicia, one who likes horses. Maybe she’ll never come home again. But it’s just as likely she’ll fall for a lowly groom or decide she can’t be bothered with men at all.”

  What the mare thought of my ponderings I could not guess, but her quiet presence calmed me. I gave her another caress, using the back of my hand. Sounds of activity from the exercise area, a circular space of packed earth surrounded by a chest-high fence of woven wattles, drew me along the stable building to stand by the barrier. I watched in some surprise as one of the Sevenwaters grooms, a man I did not know, led Swift out into the yard. The yearling’s eye was uneasy, his gait nervous. My father’s stable master, stocky, gray-haired Duald, was by the doorway. He’d always been a hard-looking man, and time had only rendered his features grimmer. What were they doing, bringing Swift out so soon, when he was not recovered from the journey?

  “Go slow, lad!” Duald called out now. “Walk forward steadily. Let the creature know you’re in charge.”

  I held my tongue with some difficulty. Where were Emrys and Donal? Swift did not know either of these men, and he was edgy, sweating, uncomfortable. From where I stood by the barrier, I doubted if the horse could see me well enough to recognize the one familiar face.

  “Pick up the pace!” Duald called, louder than was quite appropriate. “Give him a touch!”

  Swift ran; the groom ran with him, careless of what damage rope and halter might be doing. If the yearling deviated from what was deemed to be a correct path within the circle, the groom corrected him with a light tap on the flank, using a short leather-bound stick. It was not a cruel blow; indeed, such a practice was common in most training yards. We had never used it on Swift. I felt cold sweat break out on my skin.

  A small group of onlookers had gathered on one side of the exercise yard. I craned my neck and spotted Emrys at the back, his features tight with anxiety.

  Under Duald’s commands, the Sevenwaters groom continued to put Swift through his paces. Perhaps they thought they had his measure, for the horse seemed obedient as he was led at a trot and at a canter, then made to halt while Duald came in close to run expert hands over neck, back, rump, flank. But I could see trouble coming. When Duald took the leading rope in his own hand and moved Swift on again, taking him through a series of sharp turns, warning signs were plain in the horse’s movement and in his eye. Surely Duald could read those clues? He’d been in charge here since I was a child. Was he the kind of man who must stamp his authority on a creature rather than train it with love?

  Emrys would not speak up. Not only was his Irish limited, but a visiting groom, however expert, did not challenge the chieftain’s stable master. But he and I both k
new that look in Swift’s eye; it was a red flag. In a moment the horse would make a bid for freedom, and he was strong. The small group of grooms and serving people stood to one side of the circle. On the other side there was now an audience of two, for Luachan had come up to lean on the fence, a striking figure in his gray robe, and beside him stood my brother Finbar, who was just tall enough to see over the barrier.

  Swift halted suddenly, jerking his head one way, then the other. He shied, hooves flailing, and Duald lost his hold on the leading rope. The grooms gasped in unison. A vision flashed through my head, the horse trying to leap the fence, Finbar standing in the way, those hooves…

  “Swift,” I called, using the special tone of voice he recognized. “Swift, calm. Calm.” Using my forearms for balance, I put my foot between the withies of the fence and rolled myself over the top, dropping to stand inside the circle. “Calm, my lovely boy. Green field. Still water. Calm now.”

  “No!” shouted Duald, gesturing me away and sending Swift into an erratic canter about the circle. “Lady Maeve, move back!”

  I took a step forward, praying the horse would not knock me down. “No, you move back,” I said, not altering my tone. “Emrys, I need you in here.”

  Swift wheeled this way, that way, the leading rope swinging as he looked for an escape. This barrier would not hold him; he had jumped far higher obstacles in his time.

  “What do you think you—”

  “Move back, Duald.” I did not take my eyes off Swift to look at him, but Duald must have realized I meant business, for he stood still as Emrys slipped through the gate on the far side and approached step by step, saying not a word. “We don’t want him to bolt. Let us do this; Swift knows us.”

  Then I forgot Duald. “Calm, Swift. Beautiful boy. Calm now,” I murmured, keeping my voice steady as the yearling ran, as he kicked out at the barrier, tearing ragged holes in the neatly woven withies, as he tossed his head and breathed in angry snorts. “Easy, boy.” Emrys stood quiet, waiting for his opportunity.

  The two of us had done this many times before, though not under such conditions. We had worked with Swift as he grew from a leggy foal to a fine young horse. It took patience. He would seem to steady; then at the slightest distraction—a man coughing, a clanking of buckets, other horses stirring behind him in the stables—he’d be off again, dancing out of range before anyone could get a firm hold on the rope.

  I tamped down my anger at Duald for bringing the situation about. I set aside my ill will toward my mother and my dread of tonight’s public appearance. I kept my breathing slow, my voice even and quiet. I did my best to hold Swift’s eye. I kept on talking to him. And eventually, as so often before, a time came when he was no longer frightened, but had begun to play a game with us: Will I give in yet, or will I test them further? Which way will I jump, left or right? Run a little or stand still?

  “Calm now, lovely boy,” I murmured, moving in close as he came to a quivering halt, breathing hard. I laid the soft back of my hand against his sweat-dewed coat. “Kind hands and quiet.” I stroked his neck, all the while speaking to him. Swift stood still, though the warning wildness was not quite gone from his eye. I laid my brow against his neck. He shifted his feet but made no attempt to bolt.

  Emrys did not take hold of the leading rope right away, but waited for my word, as was our practice. When I judged it was safe, I murmured, “Now.” Emrys took the rope as casually as if nothing at all had happened, and Swift allowed himself to be led off to the comforting shadow of the stable building.

  “Back to work, then!” Duald snapped at the grooms. They dispersed in a flash. The stable master turned to me, where I stood in the middle of the circle. I felt as if I had run a race. “You took a big risk, Lady Maeve,” Duald observed. “In my book, an unacceptable risk.”

  I hardly had the strength to challenge him, but it was necessary to do so straightaway. “It was too soon to bring him out,” I said. “I know you are in charge here, Duald, but this is not just any horse. As you can see, his temperament is volatile. He’s always responded better to kindness than to strict discipline.”

  “What you did was remarkable, no doubt of that.” I could see no trace of apology on his face, and I wondered whether I had lost any chance of having him listen. A man does not like to be shown up in front of his underlings. “But the creature’s at Sevenwaters now, in my stables, and I’ll be handling him my way. If he’s going on to Tirconnell, he needs to learn some manners in a hurry. You can’t coddle a horse of such wayward temper, Lady Maeve, or he’ll always think he’s in charge, and such an animal isn’t safe to keep in a man’s stables. Cruinn of Tirconnell knows his horses. Your father won’t be wanting to give Cruinn a flawed gift.”

  I opened my mouth to deliver a withering retort, then caught the interested eye of the tutor, Luachan, across the barrier and thought better of it. “I’m sure you are entirely expert in these matters, Duald,” I said. “I did have a conversation with my father about the yearling earlier this morning. He concurred with my suggestion that it might be best for Swift to be kept quiet for a few days, and then to be pastured awhile on his own, away from the keep. What you say about Cruinn is undoubtedly true. But there’s more than one way to win the trust of a difficult horse. With this particular animal, kindness does seem to work best.”

  Duald looked at me in silence for a few moments. “A few days, maybe. Then we’ll see. Hope you didn’t tear your gown getting over the fence, my lady. There is a gate on this side, you know.”

  “There was no time for gates,” I said. “I’ll remind my father to discuss the matter with you, Duald.” I was tempted to add that I would give Father a full report of this morning’s happenings, but I needed to win Duald’s trust, not annoy him further, so I held my tongue.

  “Where did you learn to do that?” the stable master asked as we moved toward the gate. “To calm a creature with just your voice? The only time I’ve ever seen that done before, it was by one of Dan Walker’s traveling folk. And they’re a breed apart where horses are concerned.”

  “I don’t know. It’s just something I can do.”

  He moved to open the gate for me, but there was Luachan, smiling all over his handsome face, unlatching it and holding it for me to come through, and there was Finbar, fixing his unnervingly intense eyes on me as I approached.

  “Could you do that with a bull? A frog? A wild boar?”

  I smiled at my little brother. “I’ve never tried. I expect a truly wild creature would be much harder to reach. I suppose it might work with a bull, if you started when it was young. But I only use it when I really need to.”

  “Swift was frightened. He wanted to go home.”

  I knew better than to ask him how he knew this. “He doesn’t like change,” I said. “It’s hard to leave everything that’s familiar.” It was all too easy for me to understand Swift’s longing for his world to go back to the way it had been. “I hope I will be able to spend a lot of time with him, helping him to settle down.”

  “We were heading out for a walk in the forest,” Luachan said in courteous tones. “Would it please you to walk with us, Lady Maeve?”

  I was finding Lady Maeve something of a stranger. “You may call me Maeve. Yes, I’d like a walk.” Anything rather than go back and be cooped up indoors. I should let Rhian know where I was going. But the green shade of the forest called me, and I could not face returning to the sewing room to find her. As to whether it was quite proper for me to go off on my own in company with a young man, it could be argued that a druid was a safe companion. And Finbar might be viewed as a chaperone.

  “I couldn’t help overhearing what you were saying to Duald.” Luachan fell into step beside me as we headed down toward the lake. “There are walled grazing fields close to the nemetons, housing cows, goats, a flock of geese. The creatures supply the druid community with milk and eggs. It’s very quiet there. An ideal spot, one might think, for an animal needing time to come to terms with its life bein
g turned upside down. Not that I can claim any expertise in the management of horses.”

  “There needs to be someone to watch over Swift,” I said, weighing my words carefully. If Luachan had been employed partly as a bodyguard for Finbar, he must know about the Disappearance. “Father has his guard posts on the borders, of course, and the forest looks after its own. But this horse is particularly valuable, and…”

  Luachan looked at me sideways. “You fear the creature may spark the interest of a malevolent party already dwelling within this forest? That is possible, of course. But if I were wanting to house a precious item in the place least likely to attract such interference, the place I described is the one I would choose. We are not mages, of course, only druids. But the hand of Danu stretches over us and our modest dwellings. The goddess no doubt extends her protection to every creature within our place of prayer.”

  Clearly he understood the situation with Mac Dara. I wanted to question him, but I would not venture into such dark matters in Finbar’s hearing. “That could be a good arrangement for Swift,” I said. “But only if someone can stay nearby and watch over him. And I don’t suppose your druid brethren have time for that.”

  Luachan grinned. “Too busy with meditation and prayer, you mean? In fact, some must milk the cows and goats, collect the eggs, shut in the chickens at night. And even druids eat, sleep and occasionally wash themselves and their garments. Our lives are not spent entirely in memorizing passages of lore or conducting scholarly argument.”

  “Really?” I said as we reached the lakeside track and proceeded westward. “From what I remember of my years at Sevenwaters, that was more or less exactly what druids did.”