“Look at me, Luachan,” I said. He turned his beautiful blue eyes on me, eyes that had lied over and over again. “I cannot bring myself to say I forgive you. But I have sisters and a brother of my own, and I think I understand.”
He bowed his head.
“I’m ready to go now,” I said to Cathal. “If we’re to ride back to the keep, we should probably be leaving soon.”
Cathal motioned to someone beyond the entry, and a pair of fey guards in red and gold came to take Luachan away.
“That was…difficult,” I said. “I wonder how long it will be before Ciarán lets him come back.”
“You were remarkably understanding,” Cathal said. “Generosity must run in the family.”
“I haven’t really introduced myself.” Cathal and I were virtual strangers; it felt odd to be here with him, speaking of such matters. “I was too tired last night to talk to anyone.”
“You’re so like Clodagh,” Cathal said, his thin lips quirking into a half-smile. “I’ll be privileged to escort you home, Maeve. You’ve been forged in the fire, tested and tempered, and I see you’re made of the same rare metal as my wife is. As for the journey, you will find the way out of this realm is far shorter than the way in. We won’t set off before you and your companions have broken your fast. Luachan’s horse must be brought over from Caisin’s hall, and Finbar has some farewells to make.”
“Cathal…” I hesitated, reluctant to bring that haunted look back to his face, for as he’d spoken of Clodagh it had faded.
“Ask me what you wish.”
“This will mean Ciarán can’t come back, won’t it? I know Mac Dara was seen from time to time in our world, and so was the Lady of the Forest, long ago. But…it would be different for him, wouldn’t it? He is half-human and has human ties. Ruling in the Otherworld would take all his energy, all his dedication. So when he made his speech about the sacrifice, he meant…”
“Nobody can be sure what will come.” Cathal’s tone was grave. “I had thought to take on the burden myself. I came here expecting to do so. I said good-bye to Clodagh knowing Mac Dara’s defeat would likely cost me my future by her side. I embraced my children for what I thought would be the last time. What Ciarán did…his choice…When our time becomes the ancient past, when bards sing of it, that act of selflessness should be woven into their grandest tales.”
We stood there awhile in silence, until Finbar appeared in the doorway, clad like me in resplendent red and gold.
“Maeve, are you hungry? It’s time for breakfast.”
The meal was quiet. Artagan sat beside me, helping me eat. Tiernan was opposite, watching us, not saying a word. Daigh engaged Finbar in desultory conversation. At the head of the table sat Cathal, the dark clouds back on his face. I did not see him eat a single bite. I was relieved when Ciarán came into the chamber and announced that Blaze was here and our escort was ready.
Outside on the sward that escort waited. They were many, and not one of them higher than my waist. Cat Mask was there, and the hedgehog-dwarf with a pale knife at its belt, and beings of myriad kinds, some leafy, some vaporous, some resembling nothing so much as chunks of rock with holes for eyes, some almost like ordinary men and women, save for their diminutive size. Many were creatures, or variations of creatures: a great lizard with a fox’s brush, a being with bird legs and the face of a rat, another that seemed part dog, part pony.
“I will walk with you to the portal,” Ciarán said.
Cathal turned to address the rest of us. “My friends here will lead us; it is thanks to them that we need not take the longer way. Maeve, can you manage this on foot?”
“Of course.” Since I had been ordered not to ride until my hand was mended, there was really no choice. I wondered what had happened to my bag with my spare clothing and waterskin. Was it still in Caisin’s hall? Would there be folk there now, cursing me and Finbar, plotting Ciarán’s downfall? He had not banished Dioman or Fiamain; he had not laid any punishment on Caisin’s kin. They could make his way forward difficult if they chose.
Nobody was carrying much by way of provisions or equipment. Even Blaze was without the saddlebags she had borne when Luachan brought her here. Cathal had a small pack and his not inconsiderable weaponry; the rest of us had nothing except our unsuitable clothing. We looked as if we were heading for a court entertainment, not a long hard walk through the forest.
“Er…won’t we need food and water, and perhaps some means of making shelter on the way if it rains?” I did not like to appear critical of Cathal, especially with that look on his face.
“All that you need, we will provide.” That came from a creature wearing a mask, this one the face of a dog wrought in silver. It was standing beside Cathal. Perhaps these small folk were already familiar to him, since he had been to this realm before. He had stayed a long time as his father’s captive. Seasons had passed, years maybe, while he waited for Clodagh’s return. Yet for her that absence had been only a matter of a day or two. A shiver ran through me, imagining how it would be if we stepped through this portal, wherever it was, and found our loved ones long dead and buried. In the old tales, time was often cruel to travelers between worlds.
Dog Mask was watching me closely, almost as if seeing into my thoughts. “No cause for worry,” it said. “The way is not long.”
In all the time we had spent as guests in this hospitable house, I had not seen any of the Fair Folk, save the woman who had helped me bathe and dress and a silent man who had brought us food. Now an imposing bearded man in a red robe came out of the house, and after him a tall woman whose gown was all of scarlet feathers. Both were pale and handsome in the manner of the Fair Folk, their eyes coolly grave.
“We wish you a safe journey,” said the man.
“You are always welcome in our hall,” the woman added. “But I think you will not come again.” The two of them were looking at Cathal, and I wondered if they were seeing his father, whose reign of fear and cruelty had stamped a heavy mark on their fair realm. There was no telling what they thought of Mac Dara’s demise and that of his rival. That they had housed us willingly and treated us with courtesy seemed to bode well for Ciarán. But this was only one household out of many.
“Who knows?” Cathal said, attempting a light touch and failing completely. “We thank you for your hospitality. Now we’d best be off.”
I wondered, later, whether that walk had been designed to give us all thinking time; time to prepare for the step back into our own world. The way out was indeed different from the way in. The forest still stretched far on every side, but now it was more open, the sunlight filtering down through the half-bare branches to lighten the path. The leaf carpet, waterlogged only a day ago, was soft and dry beneath our feet. The way was broad enough for two to walk comfortably abreast. The terrain was level; no awkward stones or gnarled tree roots, no slippery rises or sudden depressions to trip unwary feet. Birds sang above. From time to time we heard a swift rustling as a forest creature passed on its business.
I walked with my arm in Artagan’s, though I hardly needed his support: this was an easy path. Daigh and Finbar were some way behind us, surrounded by an enthusiastic clutch of Old Ones. Daigh was attempting to put his adventures into verse and making such a lamentable job of it that his audience was in stitches with laughter.
“In fact, Daigh has some talent in the bardic arts,” Artagan told me, smiling. “But he does enjoy a joke.”
At the head of the long procession walked Tiernan and Cathal, conducting an earnest conversation of which we could hear nothing. Behind them, one of the taller beings led Blaze.
“Will he be all right?” I murmured. “Tiernan, I mean. He looks so troubled.”
“You’re more concerned with my brother’s welfare than mine, then?”
A swift glance told me he was teasing. “You are the stronger of the two,” I said quite seriously, remembering how long it had taken to coax them down to the cottage, and how it had always been Bear who
took the lead. “Besides, as your intended wife I’ll be in a position to keep a close eye on you. I’ve hardly spoken to Tiernan since he became a man again, and I…Well, I am concerned for him, yes. Perhaps without good cause. I don’t know.”
We walked on in silence for a while.
“You and I are both the strong ones,” Artagan said eventually. “I am happy to hear Finbar’s laughter. He is young; that may help him mend more quickly. There is much I still need to learn about your family, Maeve. How many sisters did you say?”
“Apart from me, five. But there’s only one living close by. You won’t have to cope with a bevy of sisters-in-law.”
“If they are all like you, dear heart, I have no objection at all. This Cathal…I can hardly imagine such a man wed to your sister. To look at him is to see Mac Dara’s son; and yet, he belongs to a chieftain’s war band, or so I hear.”
“Not exactly. It’s complicated. Cathal usually lives in the north, training elite fighters; he works with our cousin. But now…” I had not thought this through. With Mac Dara gone, there was no longer any need for Clodagh and her children to remain on Inis Eala, home to Johnny’s school of war craft. If they wanted to, they could all come home to Sevenwaters. It made me cold to imagine how Clodagh must have felt, letting her husband go, knowing she would probably never see him again. I understood her pain in a way I could not have done before this journey, before Bear.
“All right?” he queried, slowing his pace.
“I will be glad to reach home. Though home, now, means something different; I’ll need to get used to that.”
We walked on without speaking as, behind us, Daigh and Finbar and their companions tried out one tune after another, arguing amicably as to which best suited the verses Daigh had invented.
“No matter what happens,” Artagan said, “no matter where our journey takes us, my home is where you are, Maeve. Always.”
“Not so long ago, I thought I might look for home all my life and never find it.” I cleared my throat, knowing I did not want to shed tears at such a moment, even happy ones. “But I did find it. You’re my home and my shelter. I can’t tell you…” There was no way to describe how remarkable that moment had been when we’d first looked at each other as man and woman; when I’d realized he loved me without reservation. I’d understood in that moment that what the world saw as my handicaps and flaws were to Bear simply part of the woman he cherished above all others. I could not explain what a profound difference that made. “There are no words,” I said. “All that hope of yours—some of it must have brushed off on me.”
“Good,” Artagan said, reaching up his free hand to wipe his eyes. “That means we’ll do as the healer recommended, yes? The salve, the exercise—I’ll help with those. I’m not sure about the singing. It’s not one of my strong points. I’ll try.”
“I look forward to hearing you.”
We had walked perhaps five miles when the path began to rise, curving up under a stand of elders beside which a stream gurgled quietly to itself. As we climbed, a rock formation came into view ahead of us, the stone moss-coated and seamed with deep cracks. By the time we reached its base my legs were aching. The line came to a halt; the Old Ones moved in so we stood in one group.
“This is the place,” said Dog Mask. “We will not all come with you; two to go before, two to come behind. That is all you need.”
Four of the Old Ones stepped forward. The hedgehog-dwarf; two small, cloaked, manlike beings; a beady-eyed creature in a green hat. “We’re ready,” said the hedgehog-dwarf.
“A moment.” Cat Mask was there, a little stone jar in its hands. “For you.”
“Thank you,” I said, since the creature was clearly addressing me. Cat Mask proffered the jar; Artagan took it. “What is this?” I asked.
“Salve. Love. Hope.”
“I am grateful.” Perhaps there was a question in my voice. It was a very small jar.
“All you need,” said the creature in its drowsy purr, then turned its masked face toward Artagan. “Every morning. Every night. And do not neglect the song.”
“I’ll do my best. If nothing else it will keep the two of us smiling.”
“Smiling is good.” Cat Mask bowed and moved back.
There was a silence, save for the trickling music of the stream, the rustle of the breeze through the trees, the chirp of a bird.
“I must bid you farewell,” Ciarán said. I thought he was going to speak further, but he fell silent. He had spoken with calm composure, but his eyes told a different story. I wanted to tell him that he would be sorely missed, that we needed his wisdom back home, that what he was doing was the bravest thing I had ever seen…but here, before so many eyes, I hesitated, wondering if he was holding himself together by a thread so fragile it might snap at the least touch.
“Uncle Ciarán?” Finbar moved away from his newfound friends, stepping forward to take Ciarán’s hands in his, in the manner of a man greeting an equal. “You’re not coming back, are you? Not ever.” Perhaps only I heard the slight quaver in his voice.
“That I cannot tell you, Finbar. The future holds many possibilities. For now, it’s best that I remain here and do my work of mending. My people thank you for your courage and your tenacity, son of Sevenwaters. We will be forever in your debt.”
Finbar bowed his head. He had no more to say. I walked up and put my arm around his shoulders. “And we in yours,” I said, making myself meet Ciarán’s eye, though the sadness there was hard to look upon. “This is the stuff of future tales; we will ensure it is not forgotten, Uncle.”
He smiled at that. “Be happy in your choice, Maeve. And you, Artagan. Tiernan, Daigh, you have a second chance at life; use it well.”
Lastly he looked at Cathal, and something passed between them without the need for words. An acknowledgment of brotherhood; a salute to courage; a recognition of momentous change. “Safe journey, son of Firinne,” Ciarán said. “Greet your family from me, and walk forward with them into the light.”
“Safe journey, son of Sevenwaters.” Cathal choked on the words. “Your courage is a flame in our hearts.”
“Come,” said the hedgehog-dwarf. Turning, I saw that between the rocks was the opening to a narrow passageway, a dark slit that looked barely sufficient for the Old Ones to enter in single file, let alone a big man like Artagan or a horse. But as we followed our leader into the unpromising entry, it proved adequate to admit us all. I glanced back over my shoulder, not sure what I might see on Ciarán’s face. But he was not looking at us. Dog Mask had engaged him in earnest conversation, and a bevy of Old Ones surrounded them. Already, he had stepped into his new world.
Good-bye, brave soul, I thought, linking my arm with Artagan’s, for the underground way was full of shadows. We’ll miss your stories; we’ll miss your wisdom. If there is a remedy for your sorrow, I hope you find it in that strange realm.
It was an uncomfortable passage, but not a long one. The place was not in total darkness, for here and there tiny lights glowed on the rock walls, perhaps insects, perhaps something else. In places Artagan had to stoop; once or twice Blaze balked at going forward, and it became necessary for me to murmur in her ear, to stroke her nose, to tell her we would soon be home. Clear water. Green field. Kind hands and quiet. She was quickly soothed.
For a while, then, I walked with Tiernan, who was leading Blaze. His silence was a wall between us, shutting off words. I thought of Badger, his wary eyes, his slowly building confidence, his tentative steps toward trust. How much had been destroyed in this time of capture and beating, of binding and release, of fire and fear and enchantment? The astonishing part of all this was not that Badger had fled on Finbar’s command, but that Bear had been so brave.
“You were riding to visit your betrothed when it happened, weren’t you?” I ventured. “She will be happy to see you safe home.” Why was this so awkward, when talking to Artagan was like talking to my best friend?
“I hardly know her,” came
Tiernan’s muttered response in the semi-dark of the underground way. “It is a marriage of strategic alliance. She will be pleased, I suppose, that I have survived, since that means her prospects are unchanged. But then, had I succumbed, my brother would be the heir, and she could have wed him instead. So you, too, should be glad I lived.”
I attempted to absorb this speech in all its misdirected bitterness. “I am glad, Badger,” I said quietly. “I’m glad because you are dear to me, as Bear is, and after all you have endured I want to see you safe and happy. More than that, I want to see you make something good of your life now that you have this second chance.” When he made no answer, I said, “We should all do that. We owe it to those men who rode out with you, and who will never come home.”
“It’s easy for you to say.” Tiernan sounded furious, though he too was keeping his voice down, mindful of the others walking before and behind us. If not for Blaze’s bulk, both Artagan and Finbar would have been within earshot. “You and he—one look tells me you have something I will never have. Something that comes only once, and even then only to the luckiest, the bravest, the best. You say I should make something good of my life. But how can I, when—” He stopped himself. “Forget I spoke. I would not spoil your happiness, Maeve. Do not be concerned; I will hide these feelings away.”
I could just imagine how that would be over the years, driving a wedge between brothers, setting the women of the household at constant prickly odds.
“Tiernan,” I said, “I need better from you. I need a promise.”
“What promise?” The tone was less than encouraging.
“Understand that I’ll be honored and delighted to have you as a brother, should your father agree to my marrying Artagan. If I come to Tirconnell I’ll miss my family badly. I hope that when you are wed, your wife will become a sister to me. Ciarán spoke about his work of mending. I believe we have mending to do as well. We must forge new bonds. Mend shattered families. Make better pathways for ourselves. Support and love one another. I would consider myself rich indeed if I came out of this with both a husband and a fine new brother.”
Sevenwaters [06] Flame of Sevenwaters Page 44