“…have asked myself many questions about Ciarán’s reasons for this, but no answers come to me,” Conor was saying.
“It’s plain enough to me, Uncle,” Sean replied. “Even Ciarán must understand his daughter has no future in a remote settlement somewhere on the fringes of Kerry. He can’t bring her north himself; he knows he can never be received here, for all he shares our own blood. So he sends the girl to us, hopeful that we will see her settled, find her a good husband, secure for her a future befitting a daughter of Sevenwaters.”
There was a little silence.
“There’s something wrong here.” Conor’s tone was thoughtful, as if he struggled with some challenging puzzle. “Ciarán had no love for Sevenwaters nor for his family when he stormed out of the place all those years ago. He repudiated all of us, and the brotherhood as well, as soon as he learned who he was. He set the seal on that decision in taking Niamh for himself, even after he understood that was against natural laws. In doing so he effectively cut her off from all of us. Why would he choose, now, to throw his daughter on our mercy? Even as a child Ciarán was a subtle thinker. There’s a plan in this somewhere, and it’s not a simple wish to see his daughter wed to some likely nobleman.”
“With respect, Uncle, I think you’re wrong. I think Ciarán is doing exactly what Niamh would have wanted. My sister loved this place and her family; she also loved the life it offered her, the fine things, the music and dancing, the company and festivity. Niamh was no hermit. It grieves me that I will never know if my sister forgave what we did to her, if she died still bitter that we chose so ill for her. Could not Fainne’s presence here be seen as a kind of forgiveness?”
“You wish it could be so,” Conor said quietly. “You overlook what the girl is, I think; what legacy she bears. She is Niamh’s daughter, certainly; I see that in the toss of the head, the sudden silences, the quickness to take offense. But she is Ciarán’s daughter too. You know what that means. Keeping Fainne here may be a risk to us. We must tread cautiously, I think.”
“Come now, Uncle, Fainne has some skill in magic, that is true, but any druid could do what she did that day in the forest. Growing up alone with her father all these years, it is not surprising she has gleaned some knowledge from him. There’s more of a danger on another front; Eamonn’s been asking me questions I don’t know how to answer.”
“What questions?” Conor’s tone was suddenly sharp.
“About the girl’s father, who he was, his background. The answers I gave Aisling did not satisfy her brother; he would not accept simply that the man was a druid of good parentage. He pressed me for more.”
“Hmm,” said Conor. “Why would this interest Eamonn, do you think?”
“Everything interests Eamonn. He makes a point of knowing all there is to know, just in case it may come in useful someday. No doubt that is how he’s made himself a man of such wealth and influence.”
They were moving away along the path again. Soft as a whisper of breeze, I rose and kept pace with them on my own side of the hedge. I was well practiced at walking silently, limping foot or no.
“…secrets there,” Conor was saying. “What was the full story that day when Niamh fled from Sídhe Dubh and somehow made her way to Ciarán’s side? That’s a matter of great shame to Eamonn; he’s never forgiven himself for allowing such a breach of security in his own home.”
“It’s not that story I’d like to hear,” said Sean. “I’d like the truth about a time my sister Liadan went to visit Eamonn, and ended up in some outpost with two wounded men and a company of outlaws. There’s a tale there that concerns me deeply. It has caused me grave misgivings all these long years.”
“Yes; they’ve kept that secret well, Liadan and her Bran. All this time. A certain doubt still lingers concerning Eamonn’s involvement in those matters.”
“Still, he is my wife’s brother. He is family now.”
“Indeed. And an impeccable ally from that day forward. It raises interesting questions.”
They fell silent. I would have to stop walking soon; the end of the hedge was close, and they would see me, spell or no spell. I had not mastered the art of invisibility.
“Don’t worry about the girl,” said Sean. “She’s a good child, I’m sure of it. A little magic, a few special abilities, where’s the harm in that? Look at Liadan, after all.”
Conor laughed, but there was no gladness in it. “You’re wrong. This girl’s as powerful as her father was, I suspect. I see it in her, I feel what she is every time I go near her. Such potency in a girl too young to harness it with proper judgment could be disastrous for us. I know one thing. I’d greatly prefer a mage of such talents as my ally than as my enemy.”
They moved on and I stayed behind. Conor was a druid; not surprising, then, that he sensed my abilities and distrusted me. If only I really were as powerful as he thought; then maybe I would be stronger than my grandmother, and could somehow say no to her and still protect my father. But Conor was wrong. My own use of the craft was puny and weak beside Grandmother’s. Defy her, and I had no doubt both I and my father would be destroyed. Somewhere at the back of my mind were her words, It wouldn’t take very many mistakes on your part to make him very sick indeed. She had said that she would know if I failed to carry out her orders, and I would be a fool to disregard that. I must make some progress or my father would suffer.
I chose a cloudless day, a day when for once Aunt Aisling had set me no tasks. Now was the time. There was nothing to be afraid of, I told myself as I put on my outdoor boots and took my shawl off the peg behind the door. Nothing at all. Just take it step by step. Today’s step was to face those forest shadows, and establish that they were nothing to worry about. Tricks of the Túatha Dé, no doubt, set there to keep people in fear and stop them from asking awkward questions. My grandmother had always said that the Fair Folk were too big for their boots. Arrogant. They thought themselves better than everyone else; look at the way they had cast out their own without an inkling of how it felt to have a curse on your line forever more. It was time someone stood up to them. But, as with all that I did, carefully. My purpose must be kept secret until the very last, or failure was certain.
I wrapped the woollen shawl around me. Riona was watching. No, she seemed to be saying. That won’t be enough, and you know it. I frowned at her. But I went to the little chest, and took out the beautiful silken shawl with its scattering of tiny bright creatures and its fringe that danced in the light like an ever-moving waterfall, and I tied it around my shoulders.
“Satisfied?” I muttered. Riona did not answer, since she could not. But her expression seemed to be saying, That’s better. Best hold onto what you’ve got left, since it’s not much. I stared at her, wondering where that thought had come from, and what it was supposed to mean. Then I picked her up and put her in the little chest, and shut the lid.
It was the middle of the day, and still the frost crunched under my boots. On the lake a few ducks floated, dipping for what morsels might be found. Smoke from the small cottage fires hung in the air; turves were stacked in orderly piles by the low doorways. I passed the settlement quickly, and made my way beside the stone walls of the grazing fields toward the margin of the forest. And there by the track were two of my uncle Sean’s men, leaning on their staves and watching as I approached.
I gave them my best smile. “Good day to you.”
“Good day to you, my lady. Best you don’t venture any further alone.”
“I’m not going far. Just a little way along the lake shore. I won’t be long.”
“You’d need to have a man or two with you. Lord Sean’s orders.”
“Oh, but—”
“Sorry, my lady. Can’t let you go off on your own. Not safe.”
They were both tall and broad, and the expressions on their faces told me argument was pointless. The one on the left had the slight look of a duck about him, with a full mouth and his hair pulled tightly back from the brow. The other
was more like a frog. I summoned up an incantation and raised my hand.
“I’ll walk with the young lady. That solves the problem to everyone’s satisfaction, and no harm done.” And there was Conor, standing on the path behind me, where a moment ago there had been nobody.
“Yes, my lord.”
The presence of an archdruid, it seemed, automatically guaranteed safety. The men-at-arms stood aside and let us pass. We walked on in silence down the path that led beneath the canopy of leafless branches. Underfoot, the fallen leaves of oak and ash, beech and birch had rotted away to a thick, dark fabric of moist fragments in which strange fungi sprouted and creeping things busied themselves. I drew the shawl closer about me.
“You have a particular purpose in this venture out.” This was a statement rather than a question. “And you would prefer to go alone. But as you see, that is not possible. The days when the children of Sevenwaters could roam the forest freely, without fear, are gone. There have been many changes here.”
I nodded.
“I will not intrude, Fainne. My nephew is wise to place restrictions on movement through the forest. There’s a need for complete secrecy until after the summer. I imagine you understand that.”
“Besides,” I said, “the forest itself is not always benign, so I’m told. Strangers are not always safe here. Muirrin said it protects its own.”
There was a silence as we walked along together under the trees.
“True enough,” said Conor after a while. “But that should not concern you. After all, you are one of us.”
I held back my bitter response. You think I will swallow that lie, as my father did? “Still,” I said quite truthfully, “I am not accustomed to so many trees. They make me—uneasy.”
“In that case, a druid may be your best companion.”
I did not reply, and we went in silence until we came to a clearing among bare-branched rowans, still hung here and there with the last shriveled remnant of the season’s fruit. In the center of the open space was a huge flat stone, moss-encrusted. There was a stillness about the place that set it apart. The only sounds were the occasional call of a bird high above, and the trickling of some small unseen stream as it found its way down to the lake.
“This place is suitable,” said Conor. “I will meditate awhile, for I too welcome a respite from the bustle of affairs. You must do what you will. No hurry.” He settled himself cross-legged on the rock, his white robe flowing around him, his back as straight as a small child’s, and closed his eyes.
There seemed to be nothing for it but to sit down, as far away from him as the breadth of the stone allowed, and do the same. I knew enough of magic, and trances, and Otherworld powers, to realize one could not simply walk out in search of manifestations and expect them to be conveniently there at one’s disposal. It was necessary first to calm and slow the senses; to concentrate them on a chosen symbol or familiar snatch of the litany; to allow time. Even then you might not get what you expected. It helped to be in the right place, and it was a great deal easier when there were no distractions. The high ledges of the Honeycomb were good; the roar of the ocean and the scream of the gulls would weave themselves into a timeless, solitary sort of peace. The little cave down under the rocks, where sea and earth and filtered light met and touched and shifted in delicate balance, that was best of all. I longed for its watery blue shadows and the soft hush of wavelets on pale sand. In that place was rest for the heart. But Kerry was far away, and in the forest of Sevenwaters you could not hear the song of the sea. Here, you must think of the rock; a rock so massive and old it might be part of the very body of the earth, as if one sat safe in the lap of Dana herself. I would concentrate on the rock, and forget the trees. Slow the breath; feel it deep in the belly, feel its power through every part of the body. In and out. Pause. In and out. Slow and slower. I am here. The earth holds me. Once I sat with my back to the standing stones, and became one with the eternal patterns of sun and moon. New I feel the strength of this rock beneath me, and its ancient purpose through all corners of my being. Pulsing in the blood; beating in the heart; anchor and stay of mind and spirit. I am of the earth, and the earth is in me.
A long time passed, or a short time. Without moving, without opening my eyes, I knew there was something there. It fluttered down to sit, owl-sized and a little threadbare, on the mossy surface not far from me. It fixed its strange round eyes on me, then blinked. There was a sudden change; not a flash, for there was no light. Not an explosion, for there was no sound. Just a sort of ripple of the air, an adjustment in the fabric of things. Instead of an owl, there was a small human-like being of around Eilis’s size. But this was no child. I could not tell if it were man or woman, for it was clad in a voluminous cloak of feathers, brown, gray, black, tawny and striped, and wore a hood of similar hue, so that only its face could be seen, round and owl-eyed with a snub nose and bushy brows, and beneath the cloak a pair of neat small feet in bright red boots. There was no need to move or open my eyes. The eye of the spirit saw clear.
Good cross-over, fire child, said the apparition. Learn from a druid, did you?
From my father. It seemed to me I spoke without making a sound.
That explains it. A great loss to the wise ones; he made some very poor choices. So did your mother. At least, that’s how it seemed at the time. But it all worked out for the best. Matters took a twist and a turn. Happens sometimes.
Who are you? Are you one of the—are you one of those that call themselves Fair Folk?
The small being gave a rich giggle which ended in a hoot.
Flattery’ll get you nowhere, it remarked rather archly. Fair or foul, it’s all the same to me. Want to ask me anything, I’ll answer you. I owe you a favor. That surprised me. Why would you choose to rescue me? Not part of any plan, was it?
Might I not have wanted to set you free, just because it seemed the right thing to do? I asked, somewhat affronted. An act of natural kindness?
Not renowned for that, are you? Kindness? You’re a girl who’ll throw away treasure, if she thinks it’s in her way. Seems to us you don’t give a toss what casualties you leave behind you.
What do you mean, casualties? What is this, an inquisition? I did not come here for this.
You use your craft cleverly; you have the techniques at your fingertips. But you use it unwisely. You don’t count the cost.
What cost? But in the back of my mind there was the tiny, clear image of a codfish thrashing about on the earth, gasping and drowning in the cold dry air. That picture had never really gone away. I had simply got better at not seeing it. And I recalled Riona, staring at me, and that odd little voice that was not a voice, saying, Best hold onto what you’ve got. I thought I could hear, very faintly, the keen of the pipes.
You’d want to be careful, said the small personage in the feathered cape.
Is that some sort of threat? I challenged.
Another hoot of laughter. Threaten? Me?
Well, what is it then? What are you trying to tell me?
You’ve a big job ahead of you. The biggest, fire child. Don’t waste the craft. Don’t splash it around. Came close a couple of times, didn’t you? Save your strength for later. You’ll need all you’ve got, and more.
I thought very hard for a moment or two. What are you telling me? I don’t understand. Surely this small creature could not know my purpose here. Probably it was all some trick to make me talk. They must think me simple indeed.
Odd, isn’t it? said the creature, squatting down on the stone beside me. It was quite impossible to tell what lay beneath the extravagant feather covering. Its eyes changed; the dark pupils growing round, the yellow border shrinking. Even in the long plans of the Fair Folk, things don’t always work out. That girl Liadan, she wasn’t accounted for in the scheme. They realized, too late what her importance was. By then they couldn’t change her mind for her; she up and went her own way, abandoned us, left the forest, never came back save for a social call or two. Took
the child with her, and near confounded the whole thing. But the child will come back. They always do. The forest calls them. Look at you. You came back. Now what are you going to do?
Why would I tell you? I don’t know who you are. Why should I tell anyone?
I could help, fire child.
I don’t need help. I don’t want help. Why do you keep calling me that?
When you’re angry, sparks fly. Doesn’t that mean something to you?
It means I have been remiss in my control. It will not happen again.
Pigheaded, aren’t you? Let me know if you change your mind.
I won’t. I work alone, as my father does.
Hmm. Look what happened to him. Should have come back here, where there was a place for him, if you ask me. He was a fool.
I’m not asking, and I won’t hear you insult him. He is a fine man, wise and honorable, and expert at what he does.
You’re doing it again. Flickering. You’re a loyal daughter. Make sure loyalty’s not your downfall. Best ask your questions now, if you’ve got any. There’s rain coming.
Without opening my eyes, I could see the sky above us, pale blue and completely cloudless.
Very well. I thought I might as well use the opportunity, whether or not the answers were of any value. What lies on the Islands? What is their importance to this family, and to the Fair Folk?
The owl-person blinked. Ask the druid.
I’m asking you.
Ask the druid to tell you the story. He’s got a flair for it. The Islands are the Last Place. Pity you don’t have the gift.
What gift?
The gift of seeing ahead. It’ll all be gone, soon enough. In your granddaughter’s time, or her granddaughter’s. The trees. The lake. All there’ll be is a handful of barren fields for sheep to pick on, and a dried-up pond with a few sickly eels in it, gasping for breath. Nowhere to go. Nowhere for my kind, or their kind, or even for your kind. Without the Islands, it’ll be the end of us all.