I wondered whether I had gone too far, since she did not answer for a moment. Then she burst out laughing. “I’m getting quite fond of the ears,” she said.
Later, it occurred to me that Rhian in her wisdom had been working hard to keep my mind off the difficult events of the day. I was still tired. There were bruises all over me, bruises I could not remember getting, though doubtless I had bumped into many rocks and branches during my wild flight through the forest. We made our way downstairs and out through the kitchen, where Nuala and her assistants were scouring pots and pans and wiping down tables, setting all in place for tomorrow morning’s baking. I complimented Nuala on the pie. She made no comment about dogs in the kitchen. We took Bear and Badger outside and stood in the yard awhile. They wandered about; we gazed up at the moon.
“Swift’s on his own,” I said.
“No, he’s not. Master Ciarán arranged for one of the druids to stay close by and keep an eye on him. He knew you’d be worried. And Donal will go down first thing in the morning. You don’t have to arrange everything yourself, you know.”
This silenced me.
“I’m sorry,” Rhian said after a while. “I didn’t mean it to sound that way. But I was worried. We all were. It’s all very well to want to do things on your own, but sometimes you…Never mind.” She sounded awkward, and I understood that. We were within earshot of the kitchens and of guards stationed outside the keep, and the easy way we talked in private would not be understood by the Sevenwaters servants or, most likely, by my family. I found myself wishing Deirdre had not gone home so promptly.
I walked into my father’s council with Bear by my side. Badger stationed himself outside the door, and faithful Rhian settled on a bench beside him.
The council chamber was lit by oil lamps hanging from hooks on the walls. Their light set a warm glow on the faces of those seated around the central table. In this chamber, Father was accustomed to conducting private meetings, studying his maps and charts, writing letters and, I remembered, sometimes sitting quietly by himself, deep in thought. But perhaps that had changed, since the smaller chamber that led off this one was now used by Finbar and Luachan for their daily lessons.
Everyone looked somber. Mother’s lips were pressed into a thin line, and Doran, leaning across to pour ale for Father, had the air of a soldier who knows war is looming. Ciarán was calm, as always. So was Luachan, who appeared none the worse for wear after his double journey earlier, though he sprang to his feet when I came in, earning another look from my father. With my arrival it seemed our gathering was complete, and Doran moved to shut the door. I hoped Badger would not explode in a frenzy of barking and try to tear down the barrier. It is not so easy for a dog to learn the command, Wait.
“Thank you for being here, Maeve,” Father said. “You must still be weary. Doran, come and sit down with us.”
Father glanced around the table, meeting the eye of each man and woman there in turn. Broccan and Teafa were not with him tonight. I wondered whether the presence of my dogs had caused his to be sent to the kennels early.
“We are gathered tonight,” Father went on, “because I anticipate a response to what has occurred today, and I want to be as well prepared for that response as I can be. Maeve said to me earlier that she was in no doubt the man whose body she found was one of Cruinn’s lost warriors. I have to tell you, Maeve, that one of my search parties visited that place only yesterday. They went over the whole area surrounding the clearing and found nothing untoward. Doran was among them. Doran?”
“It’s true, Lady Maeve. But that may not be a surprise to you. If the man was alive when you found him, he must have been strung up earlier today—he could not have survived in that position overnight. It’s been the same with each of Cruinn’s men, though the others were found only after they had died. The bodies were warm in every instance. And in every instance they were found in an area that had recently been searched.”
“With each discovery it has been harder to convince Cruinn that we’re doing as thorough a job as we can,” Father said. “He is perfectly justified in arguing that if a man turns up more or less under the nose of our search parties, recently dead, a little more speed or better judgment could have saved his life. If this man proves to be one of his sons, he will be even more desperate to find the other before he, too, is killed.”
“Have you sent a message to Cruinn yet, Father?”
“We have sent word.” It was Ciarán who spoke, his voice deep and grave. “It will take time to reach him. But we must allow for all possibilities when he receives this news. There’s an even chance the dead man was one of Cruinn’s sons.”
“I helped lay out the young man’s body,” Mother said quietly. “While I have never met Cruinn’s sons, I can tell you this man bore little resemblance to Cruinn himself. Illann would know one way or the other, since he is distant kin to the family. Perhaps we should ask him and Deirdre to return here. After all, Deirdre…” She hesitated.
“Deirdre can talk to Clodagh, and Clodagh to Cathal,” said Ciarán, leading us into the territory Mother had hesitated to enter, so delicate were the implications.
Father lifted a hand as if to call a halt. “We have two matters to consider tonight. One is Cruinn’s likely response to the bad news, and the need to set in place some strategies to deal with that. The second is far graver—the fact that Mac Dara continues to torment us with these killings carried out under the noses of our searchers. Before we speak of involving Illann and Deirdre further, we must consider the safety of our paths, not only those within the Sevenwaters forest, but also those that link us to family farther afield. We know the nemetons are safe. The strategy our enemy is using, which I believe is intended to force me into ill-considered action, has thus far not touched the keep or our immediate surroundings, though I suppose that could change.”
His words made me shiver; I laid the back of my hand on Bear’s head and he turned his gold-brown eyes up toward me as if to say, It’s all right. I will keep you safe.
“Ciarán tells me certain protections have been set in place to ensure the path between nemetons and keep remains secure to travel,” Father went on. “I cannot be so sure of the road between Sevenwaters and Illann’s territory at Dun na Ri. Nor can I have any confidence that the main track north will not be a target for Mac Dara. After all, the Disappearance itself took place on a well-traveled way linking Sevenwaters to the pass to the north.”
“You don’t believe it is safe for Deirdre and Illann to travel here,” said Mother. Under her practical tone there was something akin to desolation. It must be hard, I thought somewhat grimly, with all her daughters away except for the flawed one, the one she had gotten back and now wasn’t sure what to do with. Muirrin and Clodagh lived far to the north, Sibeal far to the south. Each had her own sound reasons for not returning. Eilis was gone across the sea. Deirdre, the sister who had done all the right things, with her strategic marriage and her healthy son and daughter, had been no more than a day’s ride away. Until this.
“We must still send word.” Father’s gaze was on his hands, clasped before him on the table. “Both to Illann’s household and to Cathal. I’ll need Illann’s support in dealing with this. He is close kin to the woman who was to wed Cruinn’s elder son. This killing may be the last straw for Cruinn, the outrage that turns this from a grim turn of events we share with him to the cause of a bloody conflict. My own forces and Illann’s must be prepared for that development, though I hope Cruinn holds back from it. As for the paths and the uncanny threat, I think it best Deirdre does not leave Dun na Ri, and certainly the children should not do so. Our messengers may be stopped. The content of any messages they bear may become known to our enemy. There is no reason Mac Dara would be aware of the bond between Clodagh and Deirdre, and the fact that it allows us to reach Cathal more or less instantly. Best that our adversary does not learn of it, since that would put Deirdre at risk. If he believes her to be of no great consequence, and if she
stays behind her own door, chances are he will not think to involve her in his plotting.”
I was feeling unnaturally cold. Today, when I had found the body, it had hardly occurred to me to fear for my own safety. “That might not be what Deirdre would choose,” I ventured. “If she can help, I imagine she’d want to.”
“Not at the expense of her children’s safety,” Mother said.
“I will carry word for you.” Such was the power of Ciarán’s voice that every head turned toward him, although he spoke quietly. “We have ways of traveling that keep us out of folk’s eyes and minds, though the creatures of forest and farmland know we are passing.”
I wondered whether we meant druids, or if he was referring to his fey blood.
“Only one message is required,” Ciarán went on, “and it need not be set down with ink and parchment. I would go to Dun na Ri and suggest to Illann that he comes to Sevenwaters covertly. At the same time I would speak to Deirdre, asking her to give her twin a message for Cathal. I would remain in Illann’s household until Deirdre had Clodagh’s response.”
“Father, do you think Cruinn will come here?” I asked, imagining the Sevenwaters keep besieged by warriors from Tirconnell, and all of us trapped inside. The questions I wanted to ask were small and selfish: What happens to Swift? Do I have to move back to the keep? What about the dogs?
Father seemed to relax a little as he looked at me. “It’s all too easy for me to put myself in Cruinn’s shoes,” he said. “I imagine my children lost, as his sons are; I think of finding one victim after another, and knowing my own son or daughter could be next. Should Cruinn sweep into Sevenwaters followed by his personal army, demanding justice, I believe I will have some understanding of his fury. You’ll be thinking about Swift, of course. Under any other circumstances, the yearling would be a remarkable gift for a chieftain, a true peacemaker. But it’s too late for that. The only gift that would have any meaning for Cruinn at this point would be getting his sons back alive and well. I am almost inclined to ship Swift home to Harrowfield, and you with him, since you would undoubtedly be much safer there.”
“It’s too late in the season.” Mother’s tone was sharp. “Provided Maeve moves back into the keep, she will be as safe as any of us can be. Unless you are suggesting Finbar, too, should be sent away.”
“No, my dear. Nor would I seriously consider despatching the horse on another sea voyage when he has taken so long to recover from the last. But we cannot offer Swift as compensation to Cruinn now. Cruinn would most likely see that as an insult. What he’ll want is action.”
“We’ve all the men we can spare out on the search already,” said Doran. “We must keep the guard posts fully manned. Should Cruinn gain the support of other Uí Néill chieftains to mount an attack against us, we’ll be stretched perilously thin.” He thought for a moment, then added, “As for Mac Dara, he’s a prince of the Tuatha De Danann. The most formidable human army would be hard-pressed to stand up against his forces, even supposing they could be found. How could ordinary men-at-arms fight against the powers of a sorcerer?”
There followed a weighty silence, in which the memory of the odd conversation I’d had with Ciarán hung heavily over me, filling the air with danger. Then Luachan said carefully, “It seems to me the issue of Cruinn is secondary. The enemy who matters, the enemy who must be destroyed, is Mac Dara.”
“That is all very well,” Father said, “but as Doran just pointed out, this is no ordinary war. Mac Dara won’t be defeated with sword and shield. And without the support of our neighbors, those chieftains like Eoin and Naithi who were once trusted allies and are no longer, we cannot summon the manpower to fight on two fronts, should Cruinn and the northerners decide attacking Sevenwaters is the quickest way to find the last of the missing men.”
“You believe he is desperate enough to try that?” Mother asked.
“A man will do much for his children,” Father said. “He’ll perform reckless acts, deeds of bloody vengeance or insane courage. I hope Cruinn is not yet driven to such an extreme, but we must at least consider the possibility. With Johnny and his forces too far north to call in quickly and the autumn advancing, we would be vulnerable.”
I thought of the old times, when Sibeal had been visited by the Lady of the Forest, a figure of benign power and goodness, a lamp in a dark world. Once, the chieftain of Sevenwaters could have relied on that greater power to help in time of need, provided he was prepared to be brave and resourceful himself. It was hard to accept that those times were gone.
Luachan cleared his throat. “If I may suggest…We agree, I take it, that Mac Dara is behind not only the Disappearance and its aftermath, but the whole chain of trouble that has dogged Sevenwaters since the time of Finbar’s abduction years ago. Since Cathal first came to Sevenwaters and Mac Dara realized his son had grown into a fine man and had wandered back within his reach.” He waited for a response.
“That is undoubtedly so,” Ciarán said. “The events surrounding Finbar’s capture and rescue made it quite plain.” He paused. “This is well known to you, Luachan; it is for precisely this reason that you were chosen as Finbar’s tutor and protector.”
Luachan smiled faintly. “I speak thus for Lady Maeve’s benefit, since she is newly arrived here and may not be fully aware of the facts. Also to point out that it makes more sense to uproot the weed than to spend time picking out its thorns. I believe there is no point in continuing the search; no chance at all that the last of these men will be found alive and brought home safely. You should direct your resources not to placating Cruinn but to the destruction of Mac Dara.”
“Go on.” Father’s tone was carefully neutral. Had I been in Luachan’s shoes, that tone would have made me think twice about saying another word. “I assume you have a strategy to suggest, one that is not beyond our capabilities?”
“I do. No army. No allies. No war. Offer Mac Dara what he wants. Lure him out. Trick him, then destroy him.”
The silence felt dangerous. I admired the young druid’s boldness. I was not so sure about his judgment.
“What are you suggesting, Luachan?” Father made no attempt to disguise his shock. “That we should risk Cathal’s safety, or that of his infant son, in order to draw Mac Dara to us? Attempt a bluff when we lack the ability to follow through?”
“Luachan,” Mother said, “what happened to Finbar marked him. I see the shadow of that experience on him even now; the brightest light in all the world cannot banish it. How can you believe we would use another child as a pawn in Mac Dara’s evil game?”
“I do not suggest Cathal’s son be involved. The boy is too young to play a part in such a ruse. Cathal himself is a different matter. From what I have heard, Mac Dara’s son is a warrior of some note, and adept in the magical arts. To preserve the future of Sevenwaters, would Cathal not come forth from his bolt-hole in the north and challenge the Lord of the Oak? Who better to trick the trickster than his own son?”
Another silence. I wondered if I had misunderstood Luachan’s position in the household, or in the nemetons. His youth did not necessarily make him a junior player in the game of strategy. And after all, what he was suggesting was more or less the same thing Ciarán had spoken of that day when he had talked to me at the cottage.
“Cathal would not risk Clodagh or his children by bringing them here,” Mother said, as if there were no argument about it. “And he would not come alone, leaving them on Inis Eala, even though that place is considered as safe as our nemetons, perhaps safer. We’ve heard this from Johnny more than once, and also from Clodagh, through Deirdre.”
“May I say something?” I looked around the circle of troubled faces. “You dismissed the idea of involving Deirdre openly; if she helps, it must be secretly, from behind the safe walls of Dun na Ri. Mother is saying Clodagh must stay at Inis Eala with her children. And it sounds as if Cathal isn’t prepared to leave her, so that means he can’t come, even though that is what Luachan suggests must happen—t
hat the son must be here to battle the father, whether that’s a battle with sword and shield or a battle with magic or merely a test of wills. Of course nobody wants to put their loved ones in danger. But I think Luachan may be right. We should deal with the sickness itself, not only the symptoms. And we must be prepared to face risk; there’s no escaping it, unless we all hide away and hope Mac Dara will eventually tire of his quest. I don’t believe that will happen.”
Perhaps seeing that my mother was becoming distressed, Ciarán spoke next. “In one respect, Luachan is absolutely correct. We cannot defeat Mac Dara by force of arms. What we must seek to do is to outwit him. His activities have increased markedly of recent times. He seems to be in a hurry to achieve his goal. I would very much like to know why. Does he fear that the longer Cathal stays away, and the more settled he and his family become on Inis Eala, the harder it will be to lure him out again? Does he suspect his son is spending his time up there perfecting his magical craft, the better to return and defeat his father? Or is this something else entirely?”
“Does Mac Dara need reasons?” put in Luachan. “The Disappearance could be an act of pure mischief. He may simply be entertaining himself. Such a creature does not think as you or I might. With respect,” he added somewhat belatedly.
“I wish I knew the answer to your question, Ciarán,” Father said with a grim smile. “It might prove part of the key to defeating him.”
“Mac Dara is old, isn’t he, even by the standards of the Fair Folk?” I said. “Can his kind die, or do they go on forever?” Ciarán had said the Lady of the Forest and her kind had sailed away into the west. A kind of death, perhaps. Or a new adventure. Maybe both. “If he feared his reign was nearing its end, he might be desperate to have his heir ready to assume power. And it seems important to him to see Cathal, or Cathal’s son, take his place.” The issue was awkward, since Ciarán himself was the offspring of one of the Tuatha De.
“He will not die,” Ciarán said, “but he will…fade. The Tuatha De do not retain their power and vigor eternally. In time Mac Dara will diminish, and another will take his place.” A pause for consideration; he looked unusually somber. “Though I have to say, the clever use of spellcraft can lead to the demise of such a one, especially if that one is caught off guard. I have seen it done.”