[Sevenwaters 04] Heir to Sevenwaters

by Juliet Marillier

  Splashing again; someone was crossing the stream the other way. The dim light from the opening was suddenly gone. I shrank back in fright, anticipating a hunting dog, but it was a man who rolled through, swift as a sword stroke, and came up hard against me with an oath. In the near-darkness our eyes met, his wide with shock, mine no doubt exactly the same. His gaze dropped to the child in my arms and his eyes widened still further. He pointed to Becan, then put his finger to his lips. The message was quite plain, even in such poor light. Make him be quiet. He motioned to the opening of the little cave, then tried to indicate that men were following; that Becan’s noise would lead Aidan’s party to us. He could hear the crying. Cathal could hear it.

  If I hadn’t been so scared I might have wept for sheer relief. I stuck the tip of my little finger into the baby’s mouth and felt his hard gums clamp around it as he sucked. The wailing ceased. Cathal took off his cloak and bunched it up to block the gap, plunging us into darkness. I heard Aidan’s men go straight past. As far as I could tell, even the dogs didn’t pause outside our hiding place. We waited a long time after the last of the sounds had died away. When Cathal removed the cloak, it was almost as dark outside as it was in our bolthole.

  “What in the name of the gods are you doing out here?” he whispered.

  “You can hear his voice,” I breathed, still hardly believing it.

  “Clodagh, answer my question,” Cathal hissed. “Why were you hiding from them?”

  “The same reason as you, I suppose,” I murmured, shivering. “I didn’t want to be taken back to the house. You must have some idea of why.” Gods, it was cold. I wished I’d had room for a blanket in my pack.

  After a moment Cathal said, “I must? When I left, you seemed to be quite content busying yourself with household affairs and helping with your new brother. And you and Aidan were enjoying each other’s company. Now here we are. Forgive me for asking the obvious, but won’t your mother be wanting her baby back?”

  I stared at him, but it was too dark to read his features. Perhaps it had been too dark for him to see Becan properly before. Perhaps he actually didn’t know what had happened. “You’re joking, I presume,” I said, and this time my voice was not quite steady.

  “Still determined to think the worst of me, I see.” Cathal spoke quietly, as if there might still be men out there to overhear him. “Clodagh, you need better shelter, for the child especially. I can’t take you home, but I can walk with you to wherever you’re going and make sure you don’t come to harm in the dark. I have the wherewithal to make a fire.”

  “So do I. But I wasn’t planning to light a fire tonight. They might see it.”

  “Who, our little hunting party out there? Why would you be afraid of Aidan? The fellow’s besotted with you. And I don’t imagine it’s my safety you’re concerned about. How much further were you planning to go?”

  There seemed no point in holding back this information. Becan would certainly be safer if I had someone with me for the last part of the walk, over the stream and up through the forest in the dark. I told Cathal where I thought the rock wall was. “There will be moonlight soon,” I said. “We should wait until then. And this is not Finbar. It’s something that was left in his place.”

  “Something?” I felt him lean closer and reach out to touch the shawl I had wrapped around the child. “What do you mean, Clodagh?”

  “I’ll show you when we get up there. He’s a . . . I think he’s a changeling. But when I told them, nobody would believe me. They would have thrown him away.”

  The darkness grew deeper; shadows wrapped our hiding place, sealing us off from the outer world. The silence drew out. I could not even hear Cathal’s breathing. After some time I asked, “Are you all right, Cathal? You’re not injured, are you?”

  “A changeling,” he said flatly.

  “A baby made out of sticks, stones and leaves,” I said, waiting for him to tell me how implausible that was. “Left in Finbar’s place while you and I were . . . saying goodbye outside the door. Father suspects you were involved. He thinks you deliberately distracted me at a critical moment. Everyone believes it was a political abduction, even Johnny.”

  “If this changeling is visible, why don’t they believe your story?” His tone was calm. Beyond the opening in the rock, a faint silvery light spread across the ground. The moon was rising over the forest. An owl hooted somewhere up in the oaks, and another replied.

  “To them he looks like a roughly made manikin, not a living child. And I’m the only one who can hear his voice, apart from you. Even Sibeal couldn’t, though she believed me when I told her what he was.” Another long silence. The moonlight brightened. “Cathal, there might be enough light out there for us to find our way,” I said. “We should go; it’s not getting any warmer.”

  “You’re prepared to have me come with you?” His voice was hesitant; not at all its usual mocking self.

  “Crossing open ground by night with a baby in my arms is not something I do often,” I said, wondering if he might be about to lead me into a trap. “If you intend me no ill, I’ll gladly accept your help.”

  “Ill?” he echoed. “Well, I suppose your opinion of me was never so very high. I do owe you something for keeping quiet. I can’t say the same for your changeling, but it seems Aidan’s hunters couldn’t hear him squalling and nor could their dogs. Have you thought how odd that is? I’ll carry the two of you over the stream. My boots are wet already, no need for you to suffer the same inconvenience. Where’s your bag? I’ll get out first, then you can pass me the child.”

  “I’ll carry him.” There was no way I was handing Becan over to anyone.

  The rock wall was where I had remembered, not so very far away. When we got there Cathal insisted on making a fire. “It’s too cold for you. I know how to shield it, Clodagh. And I have good ears. In the unlikely event that they keep on searching overnight, I can get you away before they reach us.”

  “Really?” I was unfastening the sling again, getting out the second shawl to wrap the baby in against the piercing cold. “That’s a little hard to believe. Didn’t you almost run right into them before?”

  “They didn’t find us, did they? Lugh’s bollocks, that’s the ugliest infant I’ve ever seen.”

  “It’s not his fault,” I said, wondering how it was that Cathal accepted the unlikely truth so readily. Of all the people I knew, he was the last one I would have expected to share my ability to see and hear the child as he really was. I watched in silence now as he made a makeshift hearth of stones, stacked fallen wood, then took knife and flint from his pack to strike a spark and kindle the fire. He was efficient, as one would expect of an Inis Eala man. “Are you sure this won’t bring them straight to us?” I asked eventually, as the fire began to burn. Amid the cool blue of the moonlit stones, the silvery fronds of the ferns, the pale gleam of the birch trunks, its glow was like a small, warm heart. I moved closer.

  “No, I’m not sure,” Cathal said. “But I’ll know if they’re coming. And you seem to be good at finding hiding places.”

  It was less than reassuring. “Can I do anything to help?” I asked. It felt uncomfortable to be idle while he was so busy. Now he had a small pan on the fire and was heating water. Becan was asleep in my arms, snug in his double shawl.

  “This is the bit I can do,” Cathal said. “You look after him; that’s the bit I can’t do. Got any food?”

  “Some bread. It’s in my bag.” Another convulsive shiver ran through me. I held the baby close against my chest. Even with the fire, I was chill to the bone.

  “Here.”

  Before I could protest, Cathal had unclasped his cloak and dropped it around my shoulders, over my own cloak. Instantly I was warm. The feeling was blissful. “But what about you?” I protested.

  “Unlike you, I do some preparation before I set off on these expeditions. I have a blanket in my pack. Clodagh, what in the name of the gods were you doing, coming out here on your own?” He’d foun
d the bread and was crumbling some of it into his pot of water.

  “Why would I tell you?”

  He sat back on his heels, dark eyes regarding me warily. “Why wouldn’t you?” he asked.

  “Because of what just happened. The attack on Glencarnagh. The fact that you described it to me almost exactly, days beforehand. How could you know about it unless—”

  “Wait a moment.” He held up a hand, arresting the flow of words. “Glencarnagh?”

  I could have sworn he was genuinely confused. “My father’s holding in the southwest; the place you spoke of when you were trying to tell me Deirdre and Illann might turn against him. It was attacked and burned. Most of the guards were killed. Once I heard about it I . . . I had to tell him, Cathal. It matched so exactly, the description of the house, the way they did it, everything.”

  “I see,” he said after a moment. “When did this attack happen?”

  “The night before last. Johnny met a survivor on the track and brought him home. I was there. I had no choice but to tell them what you’d said. Johnny sent Aidan out to bring you back.”

  Cathal turned his attention to his pot, stirring its contents with a stick. I was sure he did not want me to see what was in his eyes. “I feared as much,” he said. “So they all believe me guilty. Even Johnny.”

  “You didn’t exactly help by disappearing when you did. And I don’t see how you could know so much about the attack before it happened unless you . . .”

  “Unless what?” His tone was bitter. “Unless I plotted with your father’s enemies to make the raid easier in some way? What possible cause would I have to do so, Clodagh? Why would I sacrifice my place with Johnny?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “I was as shocked as anyone. There seems no reason why anyone would attack Glencarnagh. It was my mother’s ancestral home: the loveliest part of our holding. I don’t know why you would have anything to do with it, but if you were somehow involved I wish you would confess to it and help Father find the perpetrator. This is tearing my family apart, Cathal. Finbar’s abduction has almost destroyed my mother. And now this attack . . . Father’s losing his good judgment, and that never happens. It’s caused a rift between him and Johnny. It made Johnny and Aidan argue. Father blames me; he thinks he can’t trust me anymore. And it hurts.”

  “He distrusts you? Why?”

  “Because of what you and I were doing when Finbar was taken,” I said with some reluctance. “Father was angry that I waited until the attack happened to tell him what you’d said. He thought I had personal reasons for protecting you.”

  “Hah!” Not a laugh, more an explosion of disbelief. “You disabused him of that notion, no doubt. It sounds as if your name is on the list of those who believe me some kind of traitor. Here. It’s not of the standard to which you’re accustomed, but it’s hot.” He offered me a metal cup full of the steaming bread and water brew. I settled the sleeping Becan on the ground in his shawls, wedged between my pack and Cathal’s, and took the cup. It was warm between my hands.

  “The evidence is not exactly in your favor,” I said. “I’ve kept an open mind. So has Aidan. He argued very strongly in your defense. He didn’t want to go after you. Johnny threatened to expel him from Inis Eala if he didn’t obey. As I said, this has turned everything awry. It’s as if someone is playing with us all; someone intent on stirring up as much trouble as possible.”

  Cathal moved to lean his back against the rock wall. As there was only one cup, he scooped his share from the pot. There was a lengthy silence.

  “So,” I said eventually, “are you going to tell me the truth?”

  “About what?”

  “About how you knew that attack might happen if you aren’t allied with whoever carried it out. And about why you left Sevenwaters so abruptly the moment this all began, without even telling Aidan what you were doing. Where were you going, anyway, and why are you still here?”

  “You could at least express a little gratitude that I appeared just when you needed someone to make a fire and cook supper,” he said lightly. “Forget those things. They’re in the past; talking about them can’t change anything. Clodagh, where are you running to? You must know your father will send men out to bring you back. You can’t keep ahead of them on foot.”

  I didn’t answer. He’d given me no reason to trust him.

  Cathal sighed. “All right, I’ll put my theory to you, and you can tell me if I’m right. You think to return the changeling to the place where it came from and bargain to get your brother back. You’re going on your own because nobody believed you when you told them what this child was. Since changelings are supposed to originate from the Otherworld, that’s where you’re intending to go. Only you don’t know the way, so you’re wandering around at random hoping to stumble on it before you and the child die of cold or hunger or are apprehended by Lord Sean’s search parties. An accurate summary? Don’t look at me like that, Clodagh, it suggests you think I lack the wits to make a few simple deductions.”

  “You make me sound foolish, Cathal. I’m doing the best I can.”

  After a moment he said, “I know that. But this won’t be the same as smoothing sheets and preparing the perfect supper, you realize.”

  I blinked at him. “This?” I asked. “What, exactly?”

  “What comes next,” said Cathal, using a finger to scoop the last scraps of sodden bread from the bottom of the little pot. “It’s going to be difficult. Dangerous. As long as you understand that.”

  “That really isn’t your concern,” I told him, wishing he could have waited until the sun was up before putting this into words. “Of course I know it’s dangerous. All the stories of the Otherworld make that quite clear. And I don’t want to go. But I’m going anyway. I don’t see any other choice.”

  “No, I suppose you wouldn’t,” Cathal said quietly, and when I glanced over, he was almost smiling.

  “That’s right, mock my attempt to make things better,” I said. “You need put up with me only until dawn, Cathal. Then we can go our separate ways. Indeed, perhaps you shouldn’t wait so long; you’re perilously close to the keep still. The longer you stay with me and Becan, the greater your chances of being captured. I can’t help you; I can only hinder you.”

  “That’s true enough; you can’t help me,” Cathal said flatly, his eyes turned away now to stare into the darkness under the oaks. “But I think I can help you.”

  “You?” I could not keep the incredulity from my voice. “A fugitive? A man known to scoff at the least mention of the strange and uncanny? I don’t see how, even if I could trust you enough to accept your assistance.” This was perhaps a little unfair. He had heard Becan’s voice; he had accepted my explanation of the infant’s nature and origins. But maybe this was all part of some piece of trickery.

  “You accepted the cloak,” he pointed out.

  “Here, take the wretched thing.” I got up, fumbling with the clasp, and something within the garment’s folds caught the firelight, flashing green. My hands stilled. I peered closer. A ring, glass by the look of it, plain and unadorned, sewn securely into the lining. Close to it, an owl feather, a white pebble, a fragment of bright silk. Precious things. A man’s past, carried on his back for want of a real home to keep it in. Green, the sign of a traitor. There was much wisdom to be learned from stories. But their interpretations were many and it could be hard to choose which one was right.

  “Wear it, Clodagh. You won’t get a good night’s sleep if you’re cold. Maybe we should talk about this in the morning.”

  “No, now,” I said, hugging the cloak back around me and sitting down again. I decided not to ask him about the ring. “In the morning there will be folk out looking for both of us. I need to find a portal to the Otherworld. I know such doorways exist in the Sevenwaters forest. If I’m meant to do this, I should be shown one before anyone catches up with me. I thought it would be today, but . . . Cathal, what is it?” His expression had changed abruptly. His thin features
wore a look I had seen there before. I had found it as unsettling then as I did now. It was both grim and amused, as if he saw some irony in the situation that was quite lost on me. “What’s wrong?”

  “You read me too well,” he said. “Why not today, one might ask; why tomorrow? So that you would not make the journey alone, perhaps. Clodagh, I can find your portal for you.”

  “You? What utter rubbish. How can you find something if you don’t believe it exists? Don’t play games with me, Cathal.”

  “I’m an Inis Eala man. We’re well trained. I know how to find all sorts of things.”

  “I’ll wager the training on the island does not include dealing with the powers of the Otherworld,” I said. “True, Johnny was once the subject of a prophecy. He’s long been destined by the Fair Folk to become Lord of Sevenwaters one day. But I’ve never heard that he or his men had abilities beyond the natural.”

  “But you were trying to find this doorway on your own, Clodagh. You can’t be telling me that you possess such abilities.” His gaze reflected me back to myself, a young woman whose best talent lay in running a perfect household.

  “You know I don’t, Cathal. But I think I’m meant to try. I think it’s a task that’s been laid on me.”

  He regarded me quizzically, dark eyes intense in a face whose pallor was warmed by the firelight. He was sitting on a fallen branch with his long legs stretched out toward the flames. His hands were restless, the fingers twining together. “You don’t have a lot of time,” he said quietly. “I can find it for you. It’s up to you to let me do it or not. If you prefer, I’ll go off at first light and leave you to your own devices. My prediction is that your father will track you down before midday. If you’re serious about this quest of yours, you’ll trust me, at least until I’ve found what you seek: a way in.”

  I slept rolled in Cathal’s cloak with Becan tucked up next to me. Whether Cathal slept or not, I did not know. My last waking glimpse was of him sitting on the far side of the fire, staring into the flames, his arms around his knees, his blanket thrown over his shoulders. He looked deeply unsettled. I suspected his impulse to help me, perhaps in an attempt to compensate for the wrongs he had done, was warring with the entirely sensible desire to put as many miles between himself and Sevenwaters as he could. In the morning, I thought, I should tell him to go. Then I slept.