As she helped me to wash and get into my night robe, as she brushed my hair, as I lay in my bed staring up at the rafters, I conjured images of myself at Finbar’s age. Those had been happy, busy times. I saw myself with Clodagh and Deirdre, climbing trees while Bounder explored below. I remembered running along the lakeshore with Sibeal and Eilis, with Bounder racing ahead. And a fine autumn day when all six of us, even Muirrin, who was almost grown-up, had picked apples, and even Eilis had come home with a full basket. That was the day the kittens were born. I remembered crouching quietly beside the stall where the mother cat lay, and watching with breathless delight as the little ones kneaded her belly and snuffled for milk. My sisters had been around me, equally entranced.
“It was a long time ago, Bear,” I whispered, not wanting to wake Rhian, who had been tired under her brisk cheeriness. “But I still remember how perfect that day was. It’s in me forever, helping keep me strong.” I lay awake a long time, staring into the dark. I thought about Finbar. What had he seen in his visions? What had made him believe he was cursed? Weren’t the images seers glimpsed in flame or water hard to interpret even for someone like Ciarán, who had had years and years of practice?
All the while, deep inside me where I had hidden it away, I heard him asking, What if you had to choose?
“I couldn’t choose,” I murmured, feeling the warmth of Bear’s slumbering form against my back and listening to the sound of Badger’s steady breathing from the floor beside the bed. The door was open a crack, and the lamp in the hallway outside sent a narrow shaft of light across Rhian’s sleeping form, peaceful under her blankets. “How could anyone choose?”
DRUID’S JOURNEY: NORTH
H e comes down the hill between the beeches in afternoon sunlight. The old woman is by her campfire, her mottled hands stretched out toward the flames. A pack lies to one side, a blanket to the other, with a raggedy old cat curled up on it, washing its ears.
“My respects to you, wise woman.”
She turns milky eyes on him. “And to you, druid. Will you share the warmth of my fire awhile?”
“I will, for I have come to speak with you.” He settles opposite her, opens his bag, takes out the offering. “Will you share some mead and soft cheese?”
“Ah. You come with gifts. You want something.”
“The gifts are freely given, wise woman. I come with a question, yes. Perhaps more than one. Answer if it pleases you to do so, or hold your silence. The fire will remain warm, the food and drink tasty.”
“We will eat and drink first, then, and enjoy the silence.”
Some while later, the modest repast is finished and the cat, sated with cheese, has fallen asleep on the blanket. The druid adds wood to the fire, then takes time to gather more fallen branches and stack them for the old woman. “For tonight,” he says.
“Thank you, young man. You’ve saved my bones some weary work.”
“Young?” the druid echoes. “I am hardly that.”
“Beside me, you are a green youth,” she says, chuckling. “Ask your question.”
The druid settles once more, cross-legged, by the fire. “I seek a rhyme,” he says. “Or it might be more in the nature of a charm. A potent one. I seek a particular storyteller who may be able to give me this. She would be one of many sisters. The charm or rhyme concerns their father. A long-lived person, with a single son. He, too, appears younger than his true age.”
The old woman waits.
“This form of words,” the druid says, “may be of particular importance in righting a wrong. In making a change.”
“That would be quite a rhyme,” observes the crone. “A weighty one. A very weighty one. Too heavy for one old woman to hold.”
After a while, the druid speaks again. “It is my observation that brothers share burdens with their brothers, as do sisters with their sisters. The rhyme might perhaps not be too weighty for three old women to support between them. Or four, or five. No more than that, I hope, for time is short.”
“In one particular,” she says, “you speak with some foreknowledge, I believe.”
A shadow passes over the druid’s strong features. “Perhaps,” he says.
“As to what you seek, I cannot give it to you, not in full. You must go to my sister who lives in the east. You will find her in a cave on a cliff. Look out from that place at dusk and you will see the selkies dancing in the foam. Or so they say.”
He is silent a long time.
“Your kin, one or two of them,” she murmurs. “If the tale I’ve heard is true.”
“True enough.” His voice is full of sadness. “I must move on if I am to find this sister of yours. I thank you for your patience.”
“Ah.” Her tone arrests his movement. “Not so quickly. You brought gifts here; not only the tasty meal, but your kindness, your courtesy and the strength of your arms. I have something for you in return. It isn’t much. Have you a good memory?”
The druid smiles.
“Here it is, then,” says the crone. “Sever now the ties that bind, Brothers in purpose and in kind. I cannot tell you what it means, nor where it comes in the verse or charm or rhyme. But that is my share.”
The druid nods, his lips moving as he repeats the words, the better to remember. This is treasure. It is power. Or will be, when he learns the rest.
“What sparked this journey?” asks the wise woman. “What brought you here?”
“A child’s questions. My own observations. So I’m right about this? The verse, in full, might prove a mighty weapon?”
“It might. Best make haste. My sister’s cave is far from here, and the dark is coming.”
CHAPTER 8
O n the tenth day after our council, Cruinn’s army arrived at Sevenwaters. My father did not know they were on the way until a man-at-arms rode in on a wild-eyed, sweat-lathered horse to tell him Cruinn’s forces had come right past the northern guard post and would by now be halfway to the keep. The men on watch had let them through. A team of six border guards is no match for an angry chieftain backed by fifty well-armed retainers. The guards had explained the rule, the messenger gasped—no passing through the Sevenwaters forest without an escort—but Cruinn had announced that he cared nothing for Lord Sean’s rules and restrictions, since all they had achieved was to stop him getting his lost men back alive. There had been no good answer for that.
In the brief time between the messenger’s arrival and that of Cruinn, my father called the household together and, with Doran on his left and my mother, white-faced, on his right, gave a set of orders. Everyone was to stay calm. This was not war. Cruinn’s men had not attacked the border guards or fired the watchtowers. The gates of the keep would not be closed against the troop, since that would suggest Sevenwaters expected hostility. Cruinn was angry, and with good reason, but most likely he had come only to talk.
Nonetheless, my father continued, and at this point I heard a subtle change in his tone, as a precautionary measure all the women and children were to go immediately to the upper floor of the keep. Doran would direct the men-at-arms to their posts in the courtyard and before the gate. The other men of the household, those not out on the search, would be armed with whatever could be found for them, and would form a second line of defense inside the keep. The women were to follow Lady Aisling’s instructions.
Then Mother spoke. Yes, there was a possibility of an attack. Everyone must remain calm and pray that it would not be so. Should that threat not come to pass, the household might well find itself needing to provide food and lodging at short notice for more than fifty men and as many horses. After such a long ride, Cruinn’s party was likely to stay at Sevenwaters for a few nights at least.
What she wanted to see from the women of the household, Mother went on, was backbone and commonsense. The situation would be made clear once Cruinn had arrived and spoken with Lord Sean. Nuala and her assistants might soon find themselves very busy indeed. Now we were all to go upstairs and keep quiet until she gav
e the word.
It was a cleverly considered speech, which almost certainly had the effect of turning most of the women’s thoughts from whether they and their children were about to be cut down by armed warriors, to how they might stretch the available foodstuffs to feed twice as many, or whether Cruinn’s men might be prepared to sleep under horse blankets. As I retreated obediently inside I felt a quiet pride in both my parents.
Folk set to work with a calm purpose that was almost eerie to see. Reluctant to go upstairs before I must, I lingered in the hall with the two dogs by my side and watched a man-at-arms handing out knives, pitchforks and lengths of wood to an assortment of kitchen boys and grooms. Luachan, assisted by Finbar, was carrying armfuls of scrolls and documents out of the council chamber and into a little room used for the storage of winter vegetables. An ordered pattern of activity in and out of the kitchen suggested fires were being banked, cook pots taken off the heat, baskets of food and waterskins carried upstairs, as if we might be there for quite some time.
The irony of my situation did not escape me, even at such a moment. I had been working hard to persuade my parents that I should return to the cottage, for a host of reasons. I thought Father was inclined to say yes, but thus far Mother had proved adamant. Rhian and I must remain in the safety of the keep. So here we were, and the sudden arrival of Cruinn had made the keep a place of peril. Underlying my father’s confident suggestion that the northern chieftain had only come to talk was the real possibility that Cruinn was here to exact retribution for the loss of his men. If we’d been at the cottage, within the protection of the nemetons, we’d undoubtedly have been safer.
Leaving the gates open seemed to me somewhat foolhardy. Wouldn’t it be better to wait until Cruinn announced his intentions before letting him in? Perhaps Father thought a battle was preferable to a siege. Or perhaps he knew that with so many men off on the search, he could not possibly mount an adequate defense against Cruinn’s forces. Either way, the orderly nature of the preparations taking place all around me was quite remarkable. There were white faces aplenty, but fear did not stop the folk of Sevenwaters from carrying out their duties as my mother had taught them. I’d best follow their example before someone ordered me to move.
“Bear, come. Badger, come.”
The chamber farthest from the top of the stairs had been allocated to the children. Rhian was helping watch over them. I went to the sewing room. Since it was the biggest space, most of the women were gathered there. Mother had not yet come up. When she arrived, I thought, she’d probably set everyone to spinning, weaving and embroidery. Even in a siege, she’d be unable to tolerate idleness.
The women of the household stood or sat around the chamber, exchanging nervous glances and whispered words. We could hear sounds of running footsteps in the yard, heavy items being shifted downstairs, metal scraping and clinking. Closer to hand, I caught Finbar’s voice from along the hallway, asking a question, and Luachan’s in reply. Of course, Luachan would have to be up here with the women and children. Finbar needed a guard, not only against the dark prince of the Otherworld, but against more ordinary kinds of attack. Cruinn had lost his sons. If this proved to be a war after all, my father’s only son would be vulnerable.
“Excuse me,” I murmured, and slipped out of the chamber with Bear and Badger close behind me. Finbar and his tutor were in the upper hallway, looking down to the entry below. The only weapon I could see on Luachan was the knife at his belt.
“Finbar could come in with us, Luachan,” I said quietly. “You, too, of course. The sewing room door can be bolted from inside and there’s a window that overlooks the courtyard.”
“Thank you, Maeve.” Luachan neither looked nor sounded afraid, and I took heart from that. “I suggest we station ourselves by the tower stairs and look out the narrow window there. It’s a more strategic spot than the sewing chamber.” He spotted my mother coming up the stairs and, without waiting for me to comment, went over to speak to her. They conducted a brief murmured conversation; then Mother entered the sewing room and closed the door behind her. “Let me show you,” Luachan said to me as he strode back over.
“I know where it is. I grew up here.”
Bear caught the irritation in my tone and began to growl. Badger bared his teeth.
“I’m sorry,” I made myself say. “Yes, we should move now.” It was indeed a strategic choice. If the keep came under attack and the men-at-arms downstairs failed to repel Cruinn’s forces, Finbar and I could retreat up the little stair that led to the roof, and Luachan could maintain a good defense for as long as his strength lasted, since only one person at a time could mount the stair. The thought of this made my belly churn. Finbar. So little, so vulnerable. Hurt, captured, killed. Bear and Badger, launching themselves against men with spears and swords. Luachan fighting to the point of exhaustion and falling in our defense. It didn’t bear thinking about. “Father seemed confident that Cruinn had come only to talk,” I said, making sure my voice was as calm as Luachan’s. But the druid said nothing.
The window was in a small alcove. It was narrow indeed, since its purpose was to give cover for an archer without exposing him as a target. I let Finbar stand in front of me so he could see out. Luachan stood beside me, his arm brushing mine until Bear thrust his head between us and planted a large paw on my foot. Badger was somewhere behind us.
Then we waited. Below us in the courtyard my father was waiting, too, a cloak over his shoulders and his sword at his belt. I could not see all the men-at-arms from where I stood, but it seemed to me there were not many of them. I thought of various things I wanted to say to Luachan: that I wished Ciarán had returned from his journey, since his wise presence might have made all the difference today. That I hoped the druids would remember to feed Swift and to talk to him if none of us could get back to the nemetons. That what I really wanted was to be in the cottage with Bear and Badger and Rhian, with Swift grazing peacefully in his field, and for this not to have happened at all. I said none of it.
Time stretched out. The silence was full of little sounds, a chink of metal from down below, Badger scuffing at something on the floor behind us, the voice of a child raised momentarily from along the hallway. A horse neighing down in the stables; a dog barking. Bear’s hackles rose at that, and I spoke a word of calm, resting my hand on his head. Luachan stood still, eyes fixed on the courtyard below. Finbar matched him. His concentration was as intense as a hunting owl’s. I was the one who needed to stretch from time to time, to walk along the hallway and back, to crouch down and give Bear a reassuring hug. Why weren’t they here yet? Let them come, and let this be over one way or another.
Just when I thought I could not wait a moment longer, there came a great rumbling sound, as of many hooves on the road. Birds rose up, startled, from the trees all around the keep.
Luachan cleared his throat. Finbar’s stillness gained a further intensity, and I was possessed by a mad idea that he was about to launch himself out the narrow window, as if he were a bird or an arrow. For a moment I saw it, the leap, the long descent, the terrible aftermath…And suddenly, without a word spoken, Luachan knelt down and put his arm across the window, making a barrier in front of my brother. Out beyond the walls, the thunder of hoofbeats grew louder. My father kept his position on the steps, unmoving. There were guards around him. I did not think they could defend him long if Cruinn rode in with murderous intent.
“All right?” Luachan looked up at me, his eyes warm with concern.
“Mm. How about you, Finbar?”
Finbar did not seem to hear me. He was intent on the scene below, where at last everything had begun to move. Riders poured into the courtyard through the gates Father had ordered to be left wide-open. His men-at-arms stepped forward, spears crossed to protect him from assault. Dust arose under the hooves of many horses; the air was filled with the jingle of harness, the scrape of weapons drawn from scabbard and sheath, someone shouting, “Halt!” In the midst of it all, Father stood
quiet.
A lull in the general din. A voice ringing out; a deep, furious voice that must without a doubt be that of Cruinn of Tirconnell.
“Sean of Sevenwaters! You sent me ill tidings indeed. Are your searchers blind, deaf and crippled, that they cannot follow a scent to find a living man within your own borders?”
The dogs, so good up till now, became suddenly agitated. Bear got up on his hind legs and started pawing at the window ledge, shoving Finbar out of the way. Badger began a high, troubled whining. I hissed at him, signaling quiet, but he did not obey.
“Lord Cruinn, welcome to Sevenwaters.” Father did not smile or move forward. His tone was perfectly controlled, the effect cool but courteous. “You’ve come a long way. Doran, please ensure that these men are offered food and drink, and have their horses seen to.” Now he moved, taking two steps forward and looking up. “Will you dismount and allow my grooms to tend to your horse? We should discuss this matter privately.”
“Pretty manners won’t bring my sons back!” Cruinn roared.
Bear barked sharply, scrabbling at the wall as if wanting to leap out. Badger’s whining became something akin to a shriek; he was trembling. “Ssst!” I paired the command with a stamp of the foot. Luachan put a hand on the frantic Bear’s collar as if to pull him down, then muttered an oath as Bear snapped at his fingers.
“It’s not good enough, Sevenwaters!” Cruinn was saying. “Your men have demonstrated that they can’t search effectively, so I had no choice but to bring mine to do the job for them. If you choose to take exception to our presence on your land, you’ll find out what a man’s prepared to do when he’s robbed of what is most precious to him and left with a bunch of useless folk who don’t know a search from a sack of turnips.” During this impassioned speech he had moved into view, a big, broad-shouldered man on a tall gray horse. He swung down now to stand with legs apart and hands on hips. “A pox on it, Sevenwaters! You’ve driven me to this! You must have heard what’s being said about uncanny perils and magical beasts in this wretched forest, and all kinds of foolish excuses for a case of simple incompetence! A man can tolerate only so much—”
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