I, too, was still. I made sure I did not meet his eye direct. For the space of three long breaths he examined me; then he fled, carrying the food with him.
Later that evening Rhian remarked on how quiet I was. Inside me the two voices were having a small war again. Don’t name them, said Sensible Maeve. They are someone else’s animals, and feral. You never intended to stay here. Not at the nemetons, and not at the keep. When Swift is gone, you’ll go home to Harrowfield. But Wild Maeve said: A name is such a small gift. And indeed, I knew their names already. The big, strong dog: Bear. The damaged, weaker one: Badger.
The day Ciarán came to visit me, I had been helping Emrys with Swift and was sitting on the back steps of the cottage with my gown tucked up, my hair half-down, my shoes off and a cup of Rhian’s herbal tea beside me. Halfway between cottage and wood was Bear, hunkered down in the long grass watching me. Our silent friendship was moving on step by step, but progress was slow, and that troubled me. If Badger was sick or hurt, I needed to have a good look at her as soon as possible. Thus far she had shown herself as no more than a dog-shaped darkness under the oaks, a pair of frightened eyes caught by the candle flame, her loyal guardian’s shadow.
And now here was Ciarán, coming to lower his tall form down beside me with no trace of embarrassment at my bare feet and disheveled appearance. Bear was up and gone in a flash.
“What was that?”
“A dog, Uncle. There are two of them; I have been gradually winning their friendship, or trying to. I think one of them is injured.”
“You love creatures.”
Suddenly I felt like weeping. “They see what a haven this place is, I suppose. I owe you a debt, Uncle, for allowing us to stay here. Without this, I would have…” Hard to finish this. I would have coped. I always did. But I would have been unhappy, and I would have made my parents unhappy. “I know we can’t stay here forever,” I made myself say.
“Stay as long as you need, Maeve.” Ciarán looked up toward the forest, to the place where the dog had gone into cover. “Swift seems to be doing well. I spoke to Emrys, and he believes the yearling will be ready to go back to the stables sooner than anyone imagined. Perhaps these dogs are your new challenge.”
“I doubt if Mother would think them sufficient reason for me to stay here, especially when the autumn chill starts to bite. I’m content in this place, Uncle Ciarán. But perhaps I am hiding.” It did not seem to matter that I had not spoken to him much; that we had not had time to develop the familiarity I’d had with Uncle Conor, back in the early days. Something in Ciarán’s presence inspired trust. With him, it felt safe to talk. “I’ve discovered I’m not as brave as I believed.”
He considered this awhile. “You think?” he said eventually. “I would point out that in the past you have shown great courage, a kind of courage most of us are not called upon to display in our whole lives. You might consider yourself something akin to Swift, and the purpose of your stay here similar to his. It is time to rest, time to recover, time to know yourself better. Its true meaning may not become clear to you until long after you have moved on. This is a place of healing, Maeve. Tend to your dogs, help them, and perhaps you will find healing yourself.”
“I’m fine,” I said more sharply than I intended. “I’m as well healed as I can be, and I’ve learned to live with what cannot be mended.”
“Ah,” said Ciarán, and took my damaged hand in his. “It is not these wounds I speak of, but the ones that cannot be seen. The hurt inside. That, I think, is not truly mended, though you do a fine job of convincing yourself, and the world, that it is.”
“You and Finbar,” I said, finding a smile from somewhere, “share a particular gift for speaking the most painful truths. I do wonder if there are some things that we can never make our peace with. Wounds we carry for our whole lives.” I thought of Mother, and the look in her eyes as she spoke of Finbar’s abduction. I thought of the bone-deep weariness that had shadowed Ciarán’s face as he finished his story that night in the hall. “Maybe a druid can learn to accept even those,” I said.
A slow smile curved his lips. “I suspect it runs in the family.”
“What?”
“Speaking painful truths. A druid learns self-control. He learns to open his mind to the wisdom of the gods. Even so…even so.” The smile had faded. The mulberry eyes gazed into the distance, as bleak as a bare field in winter.
“You do such good,” I ventured. “Everyone speaks well of you.”
“It is one part of me.”
“They are saying you will be the next chief druid.”
“It has been suggested, yes.” A long pause. “If I am offered that honor, I will decline.”
For some reason, I did not feel surprised.
“That’s between you and me, Maeve. If no formal request comes, I may not need to take that step.”
“Of course.” After a moment, I asked, “Will you tell me why?”
Ciarán looked down at his hands, loosely clasped in his lap. “I’m not sure I know the answer. Call it a hunch, a feeling. I believe another path lies before me. What it is, I cannot say. A time of change is coming. Change for all of us. Perhaps your arrival was the key that opened that door. Perhaps not. Only time will tell.”
I struggled to understand. “Uncle—are you speaking of Mac Dara? Of the danger that seems to lie over Sevenwaters now?”
“You know, in the ancient tales the Fair Folk appear as noble, wise, almost godlike. Even in the time of your grandmother and her brothers, the time of Conor’s youth, those who made their homes within the Sevenwaters forest were of that kind. They were generally well-disposed toward the human folk who dwelled here, perhaps realizing that as the new faith spread fast across Erin and people forgot the wisdom of the old ways, the Sevenwaters family provided one of their last refuges. They expected much from those to whom they chose to reveal themselves, but they also gave good gifts to those who deserved them. Thus it was with your grandmother, who was both challenged and aided by the Lady of the Forest in her time of great need. It was that same Lady, I believe, who visited your sister Sibeal when she was still a child and struggling with her newfound ability as a seer.”
“You speak of the Fair Folk as if they are no longer here. But Clodagh saw them when she crossed into the Otherworld to fetch Finbar back. Isn’t Mac Dara one of them?”
A bitter smile. “He is of that kind, Maeve, as was my mother, the sorceress. A darker breed, from a flawed line, but nonetheless powerful. And dangerous, since they are completely without scruples. Even the most noble and good of the Fair Folk do not view the world as you might. Their lives are far longer than those of humankind. They find it hard to comprehend that a person might make choices based on love or loyalty or compassion. The Lady of the Forest knew what was best for the future of Sevenwaters. She counseled Sibeal because she saw your sister as a guardian of old truths, wisdom that might be lost if not held in the minds of human scholars. She knew, then, that she would soon sail away from the shores of Erin, and that is what she did, with many others of her kind. Where they are gone, nobody knows. West across the sea, that is as much as I can tell you. Perhaps to Tir Na n’Og. Perhaps still farther, beyond the ninth wave.”
“But not all of them went away.”
“Indeed no, or the Otherworld part of Sevenwaters would be inhabited solely by smaller folk, clurichauns and tree people and the intriguing race known as the Old Ones, small in stature, great in influence. When the Lady and her companions quit the shore of Erin, they left a gap behind. To Fainne they entrusted a watch over their ancient secrets. Others, such as the druid brethren, hold a part of the wisdom that helps keep Erin safe through troubled times. But in the Otherworld there was no leader, no powerful presence to unite the remnant of the noble folk who had once ruled there and held the inhabitants of that realm in some kind of order. You know, I imagine, what happens when a space is left where, before, there stood a leader, a person of power.”
“S
omeone steps in to fill the space,” I said. “If there is no recognized way to appoint a new leader, a person can gain power of his own accord. His reasons for doing so may be flawed, but he rules because there is nobody to oppose him.”
“Exactly. That is what happened with Mac Dara. Where he came from, nobody seems quite sure. Whether he was appointed in what you refer to as a recognized way, or whether he simply stepped up and took control, I cannot say, but he assumed power here. Those of the Fair Folk who chose not to go with their old leaders, or who were perhaps not wanted on that last long voyage, became his sycophants, his hangers-on, and in some cases his henchmen. He is clever. He can be charming when he chooses. He had no difficulty in winning them over.”
“Uncle Ciarán?”
“You sound hesitant, Maeve. Please ask me whatever you wish. While you consider your question, I will tell you that out of the corner of my eye I see a black dog no more than ten paces away, with his gaze fixed on you as if you were some kind of god whom he both adored and feared. The other is up by the privy, crouched beside the step.”
So close. I prayed that Rhian would stay where she was, chatting to Emrys on the other side of the cottage, and not send them fleeing again.
“You were asking about Mac Dara,” Ciarán prompted gently. “Or perhaps it was a question about me.”
“It was, and please don’t answer if you would rather not. I know your parentage is mixed, Uncle Ciarán. Half human and half Fair Folk. And Clodagh’s husband, Cathal, is the same—in his case a human mother and Mac Dara himself as a father. I know it means you will live far longer than, say, my father. But…” After all, I could not ask it.
“But my fey heritage is of that darker kind, as is Cathal’s? What kind of a being does that make me? Is that what you were going to ask?”
He did not sound at all angry or offended, merely a little sad.
“I was, but now it seems impertinent. I apologize.”
“Not at all, Maeve. It is rare for me to conduct such a conversation, that is true, but I know you will betray no confidences. Your gift with animals extends, I think, to men and women as well. To troubled small boys. Also to a troubled half man who will never be chief druid. From my father, I inherited the ability to be a leader. Loyalty to Sevenwaters. The capacity to love and to have my heart broken. From my mother I inherited the long life of the Fair Folk, and a certain gift with…you might call it magic, or spellcraft, or sorcery. These days I make little use of that craft. I chose to follow the path of light when I returned here some years ago, after the great battle in which both your father and your uncle Bran fought so bravely. Making that choice did not mean I lost my other abilities. They are considerable. They are perilous. Cathal possesses similar gifts, perhaps greater than mine, for his lineage includes a third element, the blood of the Sea People. Between us, we could wield a mighty magic.”
My eyes were popping out of my head. I summoned a calm tone. “You mean you could defeat Mac Dara, you and Cathal together? Drive him away from Sevenwaters forever?”
“No war is won without losses,” Ciarán said. “Cathal places his wife and children above everything. Clodagh’s love transformed his life. I do not think he will take any step that might endanger his dear ones. There is no doubt what Mac Dara wants—if he cannot bring Cathal back by fair means or foul, he will pursue Cathal’s son. He has no conscience. He stole Finbar away. He would have discarded the changeling child without a second thought. Those are two drops in a whole well of ill deeds, of which the Disappearance is one of the cruelest and the most public. Could we drive him away? Maybe. Maybe not. A failed attempt could have disastrous consequences. It might leave Sevenwaters, and your father, in far worse strife than would be created by taking no action at all.”
This seemed a deeply unsatisfactory answer. “Even the most powerful tyrant must have a weak spot,” I mused, putting one hand casually down by my side, where Bear might perhaps creep close enough to sniff it. He was right by the corner of the walled garden, head down, eyes on me, tail tentatively wagging. It was a minor miracle.
“I agree, Maeve. The challenge is finding that weak spot before the damage becomes irreparable.”
“Is Mac Dara so very powerful? Cathal and Clodagh managed to save Finbar from his clutches. And when Cathal was trapped in the Otherworld, Clodagh rescued him. I don’t remember my sister as being in any way magical, only rather strong-minded.”
Ciarán smiled. “Mac Dara underestimated his son’s talent, and his patience. He overlooked Cathal’s preparedness to harness the goodwill of what Mac Dara would consider lesser races, the Old Ones in particular. He did not understand Clodagh’s remarkable inner strength, nor her…I am not sure what to call it, but your sister has a power that comes from deep down. She’s a remarkable maker and mender. She has a gift that runs very close to natural magic. Her enemy didn’t see that. A great error on his part.” He hesitated. “Cathal and Clodagh escaped, yes, and Finbar does not seem harmed by his experience. But Mac Dara is not defeated. They won a small battle. The war is yet to come.”
A cold nose nudged my hand. “Warm hearth,” I murmured, not looking at the dog. “Full belly. Kind hands and quiet.” And, when a tongue came out to lick, “Good boy, Bear.”
Ciarán smiled. “That name suits the creature.” He, too, kept his voice to a murmur. “Did you say you wanted to check the other dog was not injured? If you think he will come close enough, perhaps I could hold him while you look.”
“Isn’t the other one a female?” As I moved my hand to rub Bear gently behind the ears, I risked a glance toward Badger. She was standing in the open, a few steps out from the tiny hut that housed the privy. She looked a little shaky on her legs, but I could see no obvious wounds. And on second glance…“You’re right,” I said. “Badger’s a boy. I won’t try to touch him yet; I’ll wait until he’s prepared to come close to me. Otherwise it’s a dive and grab, and that would likely send both of them running straight back into the forest. Whatever has befallen them, it has frightened them half to death. That’s it, Bear, good boy.”
Ciarán rose to his feet, keeping the movement slow and steady. Bear froze under my hand, a growl rumbling in his throat.
“Ssst!” I made my warning sound, and to my intense surprise, the dog fell immediately silent. Badger stayed where he was, following his companion’s lead.
“We’ll talk again soon,” Ciarán said quietly. “You mentioned Mac Dara’s weak spot. I, too, have been considering that, since a remark of Finbar’s put the idea into my mind. I have an idea of where to start looking. I should do so sooner rather than later, I believe. At some point your father must have another talk with Cruinn of Tirconnell. He must tell him the most thorough and lengthy search anyone could set in place has failed to find any trace of the four men still missing. I fear even the most splendid horse in all Erin will be insufficient to calm Cruinn’s rage. Thank you for talking to me, Maeve.”
“And you,” I said. “You’re a stranger to these dogs, yet they seem to trust you. Perhaps you don’t know how remarkable that is.”
“There is something remarkable here, yes. But it has nothing to do with me.” With that cryptic utterance, my uncle walked around the corner of the cottage and out of sight.
Later, when Emrys had headed off to the keep and Rhian had returned to the house, I got up, told Bear to stay, and went indoors myself. My handmaid was up to the wrists in a sticky mess of boiled barley and shredded chicken, for Emrys had been given a plucked and gutted bird to bring down for us—Mother was not prepared to leave us entirely to our own devices. No doubt Rhian’s efforts would result in a tasty meal, however unappetizing the mixture might look at present.
“May I take some of that now?” I asked her, glancing back toward the door, which I had left open.
“Their share’s on the shelf.” Rhian jerked her head toward a platter of chicken flesh set aside. “I saw they’d come up close; thought I’d better not draw attention to myself. I did set a wa
ter bowl out the front.”
“Thank you.” Her cheeks were looking flushed, and perhaps not only from her labors over the fire. “Emrys stayed a long time today.”
“Huh! The man’s transparent, the way he tries out his supposed charms on me. It never worked at Harrowfield, so why should it be any different now?”
“Don’t ask me,” I said, thinking I could see a new brightness in her eyes. “I know nothing about men. Emrys may not be very handsome, with those big ears, but I’d have thought he’d be a reasonable catch for someone. A man who’s kind with horses would be kind with women, too. Of course, he’s pretty quiet. You’d have to do all the talking. But you’re good at that.”
“Stop it!” Rhian flicked a cloth in my direction, grinning. “It’s a sign of how desperate things are that I bother stopping to chat with the man when I take him his food and drink in the afternoons. A fellow’s scarcely at his most appealing when he’s all over sweat and stinks of horse. Now off with you and feed your babies out there. I think I see one of them just beyond the door. Next thing the two of them will be sleeping on your bed and you’ll be on the floor.”
I set the platter down just outside the door, then sat close by it on the step. Tonight’s supper could not be seized and carried away, as it was all shreds. If the dogs wanted to eat, they’d need to do it within an arm’s length of me.
I had seen Bear close to the doorway earlier, but when I came out he had retreated to the corner of the house. He would not eat before Badger. I sat in silence, making sure I looked away from them, over to the field where Swift was grazing quietly, tired out from his afternoon’s work with Emrys. The yearling was making steady progress after the setback of the journey. He walked calmly on the leading rope now, even beyond the familiar field. He was prepared to submit to various indignities such as having his hooves inspected. It might not be long before he could go back to the stables, provided Duald understood he must be trained with kindness. I was going to have to talk to Father.