She was being kind, of course; she could see how upset I was and thought to make me feel better. I asked the question I had held back earlier. “If your folk could not approach Swift, how was it he ended up in your enclosure?”
“You’d need to speak to Dioman. I gather the horse was found grazing with some of our own animals and came in with the others. As I told you, we avoided the use of spellcraft, seeing the creature was already exhausted and hurt.”
That was a curiously incomplete explanation, but perhaps Dioman could fill in the gaps. “My lady, is it permitted to mention the true name of that other person, the one whose folk you believe may have taken my dogs?”
“It is not forbidden, Maeve, though the name sits ill on my tongue; it tastes of wrongdoing. Did you wish to ask about him?”
“You have heard of an event my people refer to as the Disappearance, I imagine.” She’d said her kind were interested in the human folk of Sevenwaters, after all. “That is, the disappearance of sixteen men from Tirconnell, including a chieftain’s sons, on the border of our forest, and the later reappearance of all but three of them within this same forest, each done to death in cruel and unusual fashion. My father believes it was Mac Dara’s doing, an act designed to set Father at enmity with his neighboring chieftains, to isolate him, to apply pressure.”
“I know of it,” Caisin said gravely. “Pressure to do what?”
I looked at Luachan, suddenly wary of saying too much. I was quite sure I did not want to mention the unlikely possibility of Cathal coming back to confront his father, though it did seem that might be central to the whole matter.
“It seems Mac Dara wants something from Lord Sean,” Luachan said smoothly. “Something Lord Sean is not prepared to give. And it does appear this Lord of the Oak is in a hurry, or he would not have increased his activities so dramatically of recent times. I believe Lady Maeve was hoping you might know something about his reasons.”
“I don’t want to see any more lives lost,” I said. “Nor does my father. We did wonder if Mac Dara perceived some particular threat to his authority, something that might make him a little…desperate.”
Caisin threw back her head and laughed; the sound was an unsettling reminder that she was not a human woman. “Desperate? That is not a term I would ever use for that person. He so loves to be in control.” Abruptly, the amusement left her face. “Maeve, we touch on matters strange and perilous. Tell me, is your purpose here solely to fetch your young brother back home, out of harm’s way? Or do you seek to aid your father and to secure the future of Sevenwaters?”
She sounded deeply solemn, and for a few moments I could not think how to reply. “Both, I hope,” I said with some hesitation. I had been fixed on the need to return Finbar safely to our parents. I still was. But what Caisin had just hinted at turned things on their heads. Of course I wanted to secure the future of Sevenwaters. There was no argument about that. She could not mean I might actually play a part in doing so, surely. Me against Mac Dara? Maeve Claw-Hands standing up against the Lord of the Oak? It was laughable.
“Please make yourself clear.” The look in Luachan’s eye was, if not hostile, then definitely cool. “Lady Maeve is tired, she has come a long way and she’s lost her beloved companions. If you have something particular to say to her, I believe she would prefer you to do so plainly and without delay.”
Under other circumstances this speech would have annoyed me; I preferred to fight my own battles. It was a measure of how weary and dispirited I was that Luachan’s words set a warm glow inside me, reminding me that I still had friends to rely on. “I am indeed tired,” I said. “But, my lady, if there really is some way I can help in the struggle against Mac Dara, I would be very glad to hear it explained.”
Caisin clasped her long-fingered hands together on the table and sighed. “There is so little time,” she said. “So very little. Maeve, I would not tax you with this now, when you are weary and far from home, and have lost the dogs to which you are plainly so devoted. But since I saw you with the horse and realized what you can do, I have no choice but to put it to you. I believe you may hold the key to defeating our mutual enemy. You and Swift between you.”
Luachan and I stared at her. I was too astonished to find words.
“Let me explain. For some years Mac Dara has held sway here; many of my folk follow his lead and dance to his tune.”
“Almost all, surely. When my sister came to the Otherworld, none of your kind opposed him. Only smaller folk.”
“Perhaps your sister saw only those who chose to show themselves: Mac Dara’s sycophants and lackies, dazzled or cowed into obedience. Believe me, there are plenty who wish him gone. More than that: there are those who plan to remove him.” For a moment I saw something different in her lovely face, as if there were a fire within, a power seldom revealed. As quickly it was gone, and she was as before, a flawlessly beautiful woman with kind, troubled eyes. “But he is skilled in magic, more skilled than any of us. A challenge of the time-honored kind would almost certainly result in his retaining his authority here. And, of course, that is what he intends to do until he can secure the successor of his choice.”
“His son.” I realized she had known all along about Cathal. She must understand exactly why Mac Dara was tormenting my father.
“Or another of his own blood. But I understand the grandchild is still a babe.”
“You mentioned a challenge,” said Luachan. “So there is an accepted way for the leadership to be decided? What is that way?”
“A contest of magical skills. It would be held at the Grand Conclave, following lesser encounters of the same kind. Mac Dara has not been challenged before. It is a single combat, you understand, one mage against another. None of those who oppose him has sufficient power to stand against a practitioner of such singular subtlety and power. If the rules were broken—if, for instance, two of us stood up against him together—that would render the contest invalid, and he would retain his authority regardless of the result. There is a way these things must be done. That is set down in ancient lore.”
There was a brief silence while we digested this.
“Explain to me how it is that a girl with crippled hands and a skittish horse can achieve what a group of fey nobles with magical powers cannot,” I said. “I’m sorry to be so blunt, but your idea is starting to sound a little implausible.”
Caisin smiled. “This time it is different,” she said softly. “We have worked for some time to discover a weak spot in Mac Dara’s apparently impregnable defenses. It seemed there was no such weakness; that there was no way to bring him down. Until now. By means of spellcraft, we have uncovered a remarkable secret.”
The silence had acquired a different quality. The pleasant chamber where we sat was suddenly full of shadows; there was danger in the air. We waited.
“There is a geis,” Caisin said. “It was spoken over Mac Dara long years ago, when he was only a child. It set out certain conditions under which he would lose his power. The words were not entrusted to a single individual to remember, but divided among several. On their own, the pieces of this verse mean little. Put together, they are the weapon I have long been seeking: the means to rid this realm of its cruel prince forever.”
“A geis,” I whispered. Ciarán had been right. So, in his way, had Finbar, though he had thought Mac Dara might have laid a geis over him. He’d seen something in his visions and gotten it confused. The curse was not on my brother, but on the Lord of the Oak himself. If Mac Dara had perhaps not known about it earlier, he surely did now. What better explanation for the way his attacks on my father had increased so markedly of recent times? If Mac Dara sensed the terms of the geis might soon be met, and if he knew he had potential rivals for the leadership, he would indeed be desperate to fetch his son back home. “He thinks he’s about to be deposed,” I said. “Or that he’s about to die.” But wait. How could Swift and I possibly be part of a curse that had been pronounced years before either of us w
as born? “How did you discover this?” Had she sent someone on the same path Ciarán was following, asking the same questions? Might she even know about his journey to find the daughters of Mac Dara? She’d said by spellcraft. That might mean almost anything.
Caisin seemed to hesitate, as if choosing her words with care. “We discovered a source of information; one few folk knew about.” I heard in her tone that this was all the answer I would get.
“What are the words of this geis, my lady?” Luachan asked.
“As I said, it is somewhat cryptic. But less so now that Maeve and her horse have made their way to Sevenwaters. It runs thus:
Held by hands that cannot hold
Stands the steed so proud and bold.
Chieftain’s son with seer’s eyes
Observes the Lord of Oak’s demise.
As the age begins to turn
That is when the oak will burn.”
Luachan looked at me. I looked at him, then down at my hooked fingers, stiff as twigs on my lap.
“Hands that cannot hold,” I said flatly. “Based solely on that, you believe I can somehow make this geis come to pass?”
“Not only do I believe it, Maeve, I am certain of it. Into our midst comes a remarkably fine but highly strung horse, and a young woman of Sevenwaters with a certain disability, who happens to be able to control this wayward animal using only her voice…It must surely mean the fulfillment of the terms. I believe all that is required is that you demonstrate again the skill you showed us earlier. I am asking you to do so, before my people, in Mac Dara’s sight, at the Grand Conclave. Maeve, you can be the key to his downfall. You can win peace and security for your family and your community. Will you do this?”
Morrigan save us. Her eyes were shining with hope; her voice trembled. But…me, save Sevenwaters? Bring down an enemy so dark and powerful that his own people shrank before him?
“Wait a moment,” I said. “Chieftain’s son with seer’s eyes—that must be Finbar. My brother is only a child. Mac Dara stole him away as a baby; he cared nothing for his welfare. But the words of this verse suggest Finbar must be present when this conclave happens, present for the challenge.”
“So it would seem. He is the third part of this, setting it beyond doubt that now is the time for this geis to be fulfilled.”
Dear gods. It was almost as if Finbar had known what we were walking into, with his insistence that we must do things in very particular ways. He had been so certain we should not go straight home. He had been so sure…
“I don’t like this,” I said. “I don’t want Finbar involved. He’s only little. What is that reference to burning?”
“Maeve,” put in Luachan quickly, “don’t distress yourself. I’m sure there will be time to discuss this, to make sense of it—”
“What does it mean, the oak will burn?” My voice was shaking despite my best efforts. “Are you sure that’s the whole geis? It doesn’t make sense.”
“Yes, that is all of it. Such verses are often somewhat obscure. I do not believe your brother will come to any harm. The rhyme says only that he must be present to observe.”
“It’s not— I don’t think—” My mind was awhirl; I hardly knew what to say to her. “My lady, calming Swift with my voice is not as straightforward as it may look. If there was a crowd of folk around, and noise, and bright lights, I might well have no control at all over him. He would be very disturbed. And Finbar…It is hard to believe this rhyme requires only that he stand and watch. Simply being in the Otherworld is a risk for him, and going to this conclave, where Mac Dara could see him openly, it’s…” It’s something my parents would not want to happen, even if it meant defeating their worst enemy. “My lady, I believe their son’s safety would weigh more to my parents than almost anything.”
“Maeve—”
“You need time, of course,” Caisin said quietly, cutting off whatever Luachan had been going to say. “This is a hard choice for you. You and your sisters have been trained to family loyalty, and of course that loyalty might call you to protect this young brother above all other things. I ask you to consider a wider view. This could save your father’s land and his position. It could bring about a time of great change. A new age.”
When the age begins to turn… “You didn’t answer my question about fire,” I managed. It felt equally impossible to accept and refuse. How could I risk Finbar? But how could I turn down a chance to end Mac Dara’s reign? “The geis mentions burning. In your plans, where does that part come in? You know, I suppose, how much fire disturbs even a placid horse.” I found I was shivering, and wrapped my arms around myself. Finbar had spoken of fire when he told the story of the two dragons. But that story had ended halfway through, before we got to the burning.
“I do not believe it means, literally, that our adversary would burn. There is always a fire at the Grand Conclave; that meeting is our most significant gathering. You must be accustomed to ritual fire, since your family is scrupulous in its observance of the old ways.”
“I have not lived at Sevenwaters for ten years. But I do have cause to remember the use of fire for ceremonies, yes.”
“Of course,” she said calmly. “You look cold, Maeve. Will you drink a little of my cordial to restore your spirits and help you with this decision? I promise the draught will not harm you. Besides, you have already sampled it, out in the forest.”
The shivering was getting worse; I felt as if I were on a steep slope, sliding downward with no way back. “Very well,” I said. “A sip or two.” She was right—I had already tasted the potion and it had helped me considerably. I needed a clear head for this.
I had thought Caisin would snap her fingers to summon a lackey of some kind, but she got up and went out, surprising me. And Luachan surprised me even more, removing the outer tunic he was wearing and coming to wrap it around my shoulders.
“You’re shaking,” he said. “This is too much to ask of you.”
“How can I make such a choice? I can’t risk Finbar; it’s wrong. I feel it in my bones. But if this really is the only chance to defeat Mac Dara…It can’t be. It can’t be all down to me; that’s simply ridiculous.”
“The terms of a geis can often seem somewhat ridiculous,” Luachan said. “Look at the tale of Cú Chulainn. But, odd as the details may be, the intention is entirely serious. If the verse is accurate, it seems this may spell out the end of an age, no less.” His voice was not quite steady. It seemed he, too, was overwhelmed at the immensity of this.
“If Caisin is wrong, I could die,” I said. “Finbar could die. And Mac Dara could stay right where he is, wielding power over the fey folk of Sevenwaters and tormenting the human folk until my father’s authority is quite gone.”
“That is the worst that could happen.”
“It’s too risky. At the very least, I’d want to consult Father and Ciarán before saying yes to it. We should go home, tell them about this, and if they decide we should go ahead, then we could come back in time for this Grand Conclave. Though I really doubt that my parents would let Finbar do that, no matter what depended on it.” I want to keep him close, Mother had said of Finbar. To wrap him up, never to let him out of my sight.
“Would you go ahead with it if your brother were not required to be present for the fulfilment of the geis?” Luachan laid his hand over mine on the table. “Gods, you’re ice-cold! You should go off to bed and forget this until morning.”
“In the unlikely chance that I can sleep after this, my dreams will doubtless be full of Mac Dara. Luachan, what do you think we should do? Tell me honestly. Tell me what you would do if you were me.”
After a moment he said, “I can’t. I can’t put myself in your shoes. I know that you are brave and forthright, and that you don’t like other folk to make your choices for you. All I can say is that in any decision you must weigh the danger against the prize.”
“I don’t seem to be able to do that this time. Both seem monstrous, too big to contemplate.” I
wondered that he had not suggested I seek the wisdom of the gods. As a druid, surely that must come first for him. Perhaps he knew how little faith I had in any deity.
“You don’t need me to remind you,” Luachan said, “that you’ve faced a monstrous challenge once before and come through it with admirable courage. Not unscathed, of course, but still fighting bravely on.”
This remark confused me. I was not sure whether I cared for it or not. The silence was just becoming awkward when Caisin returned, bearing a plain earthenware jug and three cups on a tray. The style of these, I thought, was calculated to make her potion look as innocuous as possible, like mead or ale brewed by a country wife.
She poured it and passed the cups. We sipped in silence, then she said, “I am sure you have more questions for me, Maeve.”
“Only one right now.” The cordial had set some fire in my veins. “You spoke before about there not being much time to make the decision. How much time exactly? When is the Grand Conclave?”
Caisin turned her lambent eyes on me. “It is tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?” Luachan and I spoke as one.
“You understand, I am sure, why I must see your arrival in our midst at this particular time, with your horse and your brother, as no less than an act of the gods. This is meant to be.”
Struggling with the enormity of it, I said, “Or someone might have made it happen this way. Swift would not have jumped the wall and fled from his field without reason. Someone might have manipulated all of us—set it up so Finbar ran after the horse and the dogs and I followed, since there was no time to fetch help. Brought us all into the Otherworld. Lured my brother to the oak tree and put him in an enchanted sleep until I got there. Left Swift wandering where you would find him. Stolen the dogs…” Something in the quality of the silence made me falter to a stop.