Sevenwaters [06] Flame of Sevenwaters

by Juliet Marillier

  “Finbar,” I whispered in my brother’s ear, “make room for Uncle Ciarán here. And don’t ask him too many questions.” As Finbar squeezed up toward Rhian, I caught my uncle’s eye and signaled that he should come and sit beside us on our bench.

  He did so readily. My instincts were likely correct; they had never failed me yet, though they were more commonly applied in the case of horse or dog than man or woman.

  “Uncle Ciarán, would you care for some mead?”

  Rhian was off to fetch it before he finished nodding his head. I sat beside him quietly until she returned with a full goblet and put it in his hands. “That was a very fine story, Master Ciarán,” she said, blushing a little.

  “Thank you. As I said, it was one of my brother’s favorites.”

  “A good lesson,” I said. “An important tale to keep telling, I think. Uncle, I was asked to pass on a respectful greeting to you from Aunt Liadan. Uncle Bran also sent his regards. He said to tell you he remains forever in your debt.” There was a tangled story in their past; the debt went both ways.

  “I am happy to meet you again, Maeve. Ten years, is it not? That is a long time to be away from Sevenwaters. Did you feel the pull of the place from over the sea in Britain?”

  He had the same approach to questions as Finbar, though he was somewhat subtler in the manner of asking. I spoke quietly, not wanting anyone else to hear. “Perhaps I should have done; I know this place has its own magic. But the honest answer is no. My feelings about Sevenwaters have been colored by what happened to me. I understand the magic, but I do not feel it, Uncle Ciarán.” Seeing that Finbar was saying something to Rhian, I added, “Those ten years have made me a stranger here.”

  Ciarán considered this a moment, looking down at the goblet in his long, graceful fingers. “I should say, you are family, and family are never strangers here. But that is not true for everyone, as you have discovered. We might speak more of this another time.” He glanced at Finbar, who had stopped talking and was quite plainly waiting to ask a question. “What is it, Finbar?”

  “Uncle Ciarán, what if Finn died before any children were born? What if Baine was too sad to remember about the geis? Or what if another chieftain attacked them and Finn had no choice but to cross the Silverwash in enmity? What if…” He glanced at me and fell silent.

  “Finbar,” said Ciarán calmly, “I am sure Luachan has explained to you the difference between factual truth and symbolic truth. Figurative truth, that is.”

  If he had explained that, I thought, my brother was getting a remarkable education.

  “So it isn’t a true story,” Finbar said. He spoke flatly, as if unsurprised to find that happy endings exist only in the imagination.

  Before I could say anything, Ciarán spoke. “Ah! I did not say that at all. Perhaps the events of the story did once happen just as I told them. And perhaps not. A story may be pure imagining, yet at the same time be truer than fact. A tale exists in as many forms as there are folk to hear it. Finbar, shut your eyes and take two deep breaths with me—slowly, slowly, that’s good. Now open your eyes again and tell me, what is the learning in this tale? Give me a short answer, not a long one.”

  There was a small pool of quiet around us, though in the rest of the hall the crowd enjoyed its mead and exchanged its news with robust good humor. Luachan had detached himself from the main group and had come to stand by us, still and silent.

  Finbar opened his mouth and shut it again with not a word spoken. I put my arm around his shoulders, heedless of who might be looking at my hands.

  “That we should respect the earth,” my brother said.

  “And you, young lady?” Ciarán looked at Rhian.

  Rhian was no ordinary maid; she flushed a little, surprised that he would include her, but found a ready answer. “Never disregard a geis, Master Ciarán.”

  “Good, good,” he said, smiling again.

  “And more,” I said, though he had not asked me for a contribution. Looking at Finbar, I went on. “The story teaches us that love can heal the most terrible ills. And that even in times of death, destruction and ignorance, there are still good people who can make a difference. If that answer is too long, I apologize.”

  “It is not too long, Maeve. Say more if you wish.”

  “What I liked best were the words the sorceress spoke to Finn and Baine. If you are brave, good and wise you can meet any challenge. The story is worth hearing for that alone. I understand why Uncle Conor loved it, and I thank you for telling it in his honor, Uncle Ciarán.”

  “Thank you, Maeve.” He inclined his head gravely. “You speak straight from the heart, with courage. I should not be surprised by that, knowing you were fostered by Liadan and her remarkable husband. She is a brave and forthright woman. He is what he is: one of a kind. You will miss them.”

  I said nothing. If I chose to stay at Sevenwaters, I would miss them badly. If I made the choice to return to Harrowfield, I would bring down further sorrow on my parents. No easy choice lay before me. As for being brave, good and wise, there were times when I failed on all three.

  “Finbar,” Luachan was speaking in my brother’s ear, “you know the rule: you must sit with me in the dining hall, and when I am not here, you stay close to Doran.”

  “It was my fault,” I said. “I asked Finbar to sit beside me; he did explain the rule. If I’ve transgressed I apologize.”

  “The rule is for his safety,” Luachan said. “Your father…” He did not finish the sentence.

  I wanted to argue the point, but this was not the time. Finbar was too good at seeing the shadow at the heart of every story.

  “I understand,” I said. “I’ll have a word with Father on the matter.” Let Luachan make what he liked of that. “Uncle Ciarán, will you be staying here at the keep for a few days?” He seemed a wise and interesting man. In many ways he reminded me of Conor, but there was more to him, I thought. Mysteries, secrets; always that inner reserve. I would like to talk to him alone sometime.

  “Luachan and I will both be returning to the nemetons in the morning. He’ll be back here in a few days, as usual. I have some duties among my brethren that cannot wait. But I hope to speak with you again soon. You are welcome to visit us there, provided someone accompanies you—we have our eyes open to danger these days. Luachan tells me you are a keen walker.”

  It was on the tip of my tongue to ask him about the grazing fields and Swift, but on that matter, Luachan had been right: it was best that my father do the asking. “Thank you, Uncle. I’d like that.”

  “Uncle Ciarán?” It seemed Finbar was not finished with his questions yet. “You know what you said at the start, about Cú Chulainn? I know that story. He was a great hero. He knew about the geis on him, but he can’t have been frightened by it, or he wouldn’t have kept doing brave deeds. Geasa always come true, don’t they? Wouldn’t he have been thinking about it every day, wondering when it was going to happen, maybe trying to make sure it didn’t catch up with him?”

  Ciarán took his time in answering this. A little frown had appeared on his brow. “It seems not, in Cú Chulainn’s case. But he was somewhat exceptional. As you say, a great hero. Perhaps he was afraid, Finbar. Or maybe, being so fond of heroic deeds, he simply made sure he performed as many of them as he could before the terms of the geis came to pass. The tales do not give us the answer.”

  Later, in our chamber, Rhian brushed out my hair, over which I’d worn a veil at suppertime. Rhian had observed, not for the first time, that it was a shame to cover up such lovely hair—many was the girl, my maid said, who’d kill for a head of red-gold curls like mine. That might be true, I’d told her flatly, but the head of curls needed a pretty face to carry it off, or at least a face not marked by livid scars. I might be prepared to visit the stables with those scars on display, but making my first appearance at my parents’ table was a different matter. Brave, wise and good. In this decision I had perhaps not been as brave as I could have been, but I had almost c
ertainly made the wise choice. When I had bid Mother goodnight, before Rhian and I made our exit from the dining hall, she had put her hands on my shoulders, kissed me on either cheek, and murmured, “Well done, Maeve.” So she did understand one thing at least: that even after so long, I must screw up my courage before I stepped out in front of strangers.

  “Rhian,” I said now, “you have younger brothers. Don’t you think Finbar is unusually solemn for a boy of his age?”

  The brush continued its steady work. “He is rather quiet,” Rhian said. “But he’s the son of a chieftain; he’s not likely to be ripping his pants on blackberry bushes and having mud fights the way my little brothers used to.”

  “I don’t think my sisters and I ever had mud fights. They sound like fun.”

  “Washing the clothes afterward is no fun at all, so don’t get any ideas.”

  “I have ideas already, Rhian. Luachan won’t be here for the next few days. It’s a good opportunity for Finbar to be a little boy for a while. But I’ll need your help. It’s all right. I’m not planning anything outrageous. They’re concerned for his safety, so I imagine he’s not allowed to stray far when Luachan’s not here to keep an eye on him. We could borrow a guard, I suppose. I must speak to Father about that, and about Swift.”

  Rhian had finished the brushing and was taming my curls into plaits, ready for the night. She said nothing.

  “What?” I knew her; her silence spoke eloquently.

  “Nothing. But…maybe you should wait a bit before you start trying to change things here. Especially if we won’t be staying long.” She fastened one plait and started on the other. “There’s nothing wrong with spending time with your brother. And of course arrangements have to be made for the horse. But you don’t have to do everything yourself, and you don’t have to do it right now. There are other things…”

  “Go on,” I said.

  “You sound cross. Like a queen daring a kitchen maid to keep on speaking above her station.”

  “Oh, stop it,” I said, swatting her awkwardly. “Just tell me. I see all sorts of things wrong here, things done in a way I don’t like, and I don’t understand why it’s happening. Certainly my mother used to run a tight household, but always with good judgment. My father was widely admired for his wisdom and restraint. People came to him for advice on making peace with their neighbors.”

  “You believe that has changed?”

  “Perhaps not. But something has crept in here, something that shows in small ways, like Duald deciding to bring Swift out into the yard and put him through his paces when I’m certain Emrys must already have advised against it. And Finbar. There’s something not right with him, but I’m the only one who seems to see it.”

  “Not all boys want to spend their time running around and getting into trouble.”

  “A child can be naturally quiet without being…Well, I can’t quite say what I think it is. A sadness. As if he’s constantly worried.”

  Rhian sighed.

  “What?”

  “It’s not up to me to tell you what to do,” she said.

  “You could give me some advice, since it’s plain you think I’m wrong.”

  “My advice is to wait. You want to set everything right, and that’s good, but you’re forgetting that your mother and father had only short notice that you were coming home. They’re still getting used to having you back. And you’re planning to tell them they’re bringing up their son all wrong. And besides, their stable master isn’t doing things the way you want them done.”

  “Well, he isn’t. And that needs attending to right away, Rhian. It can’t wait.”

  She was finished with my hair. Now she began to unfasten the hooks at the back of my gown. “You know,” she said, “your uncle’s only just been buried. And they have other things on their minds. Terrible things, with that Disappearance, and the search still on for the missing men in the woods.”

  I glanced at her sharply. “Who’s been talking about that?”

  “Everyone. Nuala told me they’re shorthanded in the kitchen and in the fields because so many of the men are spending all day out on the search. They do it in shifts. This chieftain, Cruinn, the one whose men were lost, they’re saying that he threatened to come here with his men-at-arms and mount his own search if your father can’t find the last four missing men before winter sets in. And everyone’s worried about that. Not only is it more mouths to feed, but they’re not going to be friendly ones. Eithne said the fellows who are doing the searching are all having nightmares. The way the dead were found…I can hardly bring myself to say it.”

  “I know how they were found. No wonder Finbar’s looking like a ghost, if everyone in the household is talking about this openly. He’s probably having his own nightmares. That does it. I’m speaking to Mother in the morning.” I stood up and slipped out of the gown. “Don’t look like that, Rhian. He’s my brother. Someone has to do something.”

  “Arms up.”

  I obeyed, bending forward, and she slipped my under-shift over my head.

  “You know,” she said, holding up my night robe so I could put my arms through the sleeves, “if my daughter had been away for ten years and I had just got her back, I’d like her to come and sit with me awhile, and maybe ask me if I was happy. I’d want her to tell me she missed me, but that she was all right. I’d want the chance to tell her how much I’d missed her, and how my life was a little sadder for her absence. I’d want—”

  “Stop it!” I wriggled into the night robe and folded my arms, unable to keep the glare off my face. “You’re saying I should tell lies to make my mother feel better?”

  “Not at all.” Rhian spoke calmly; she was used to me. “I’m saying go slow. Talk to your father about the horse; that’s one thing. Ask your mother nicely if we can take Finbar out for a walk, or take him riding, or whatever you’d like to do. And that’s all. He’s her son. If there’s something wrong, do you think she hasn’t seen it, too?”

  That was exactly what I did think, since nobody seemed to be doing anything about it. But enough was enough. Suddenly I was tired. I sat down on the bed and Rhian knelt to take off my shoes.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “I don’t deserve you.”

  “No, you don’t,” said Rhian, grinning up at me. “But here I am, with my ready advice. Just as well your mother can’t hear me, or I’d be dismissed for insubordination.”

  I could not speak to Father about Swift, because Father rode out straight after breakfast to escort Deirdre and Illann and their attendants to the Sevenwaters border. A considerable number of men-at-arms went with them. I could not take up the question of Finbar’s education with Luachan, since he and Ciarán had not even waited for breakfast before slipping away into the forest, back to the nemetons. But I did find Finbar in the kitchen patting the dogs and talking to Nuala, so I took him with me to find Mother. That meant my talk with her was not the one I had planned. She was in the upstairs hallway talking to Orlagh about clean linen, but she paused when we appeared.

  “Mother, I have a favor to ask.”

  “Of course, Maeve.”

  “Since Finbar’s tutor is not here today, I wondered if he could come out with Rhian and me for a while. Rhian suggested we might go riding. Not far; you can tell me what is permissible. Or we might weed the little garden or go looking for nuts. May he spend the morning with us?”

  A small frown creased Mother’s brows. She was looking pale; her freckles stood out against her skin. “There are some rules you must follow. Finbar knows what they are. When Luachan is away, Finbar doesn’t go riding unless he’s with his father.”

  “But didn’t Eilis take him when she was here?”

  “That was before.” She did not need to say before the Disappearance. “Besides, if anything should go amiss…”

  “I won’t be able to cope, because of my hands?”

  She flushed with embarrassment. Orlagh was suddenly very busy folding a sheet. “Maeve, I didn’t mean—”
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  “Let’s both be honest about this, Mother. If you don’t think I’m capable of looking after my brother for a morning, just say so.”

  “Mother, I am a good rider,” Finbar pointed out. “Doran said I was unusually capable for my age. And of course Rhian will come with us. Anyway, Maeve has her own ways of doing things. She—”

  “I think we can cope,” I said, cutting him short. “What if we stay within sight of the keep?”

  “Finbar, if you had explained this to Maeve you would have avoided all this trouble. There is no riding without Luachan.”

  “A walk, then?”

  “If you walk out of sight of the keep, you must take a guard with you. And we’re short of men.”

  The search. I could not argue with that.

  “Why don’t you do something indoors?” asked Mother.

  Because this child needs to run and climb and jump and get the roses back in his cheeks and the ghosts out of his eyes.

  “Finbar could read to you,” she added. “Luachan tells me he’s remarkably accomplished.”

  For one fleeting moment I saw on her face a look so full of love and pride and sadness that my heart bled for her. This was her only son, and perhaps she did know how troubled he was, and wished she could make it better. Hadn’t she said something once about it being bad for him to be too much alone?

  “Maeve? Is something wrong?”

  How could I answer that? “No, Mother. For today, we’ll walk only as far as the lakeshore. Come on, Finbar. Let’s find Rhian. Maybe we’ll go and visit Swift first—what do you think?”

  It was a good day. I remembered that later, when everything began to turn dark. We obtained provisions from Nuala, including carrots for the horses. While Rhian and Finbar distributed these I spoke to Emrys and discovered to my surprise that the possibility of housing Swift at the nemetons had already been suggested—by whom, Emrys did not know—and that the main concern was a lack of men to maintain the required watch over him. With many of my father’s regular stablehands out on the search for Cruinn’s lost men, Emrys and Donal were setting their hands to whatever work Duald had for them, and there was plenty of it.