“I was ten,” I said. “And I don’t suppose I was any more perceptive than most children are at that age. Whatever is usual for a druid, I suspect you have stepped far outside its borders, Luachan. Do you live in the keep all the time now you are teaching Finbar?”
He smiled again, perhaps realizing I had deliberately turned the conversation away from myself. “I go between your father’s house and the nemetons. A few days with Finbar, a day or two of prayer. While at the keep I assist Lord Sean with his letters and documents. I learned to read and write both Latin and Irish as a boy and I am teaching your brother the same skills.”
My brother’s silence was starting to unnerve me a little. “Perhaps you, too, are headed for the druidic life, Finbar,” I said lightly.
He turned his big eyes on me. “I’m the only son,” he pointed out. “I can’t be a druid.”
I had spoken without thinking, and I regretted it. I knew the arrangement. Johnny, eldest son of Bran and Liadan and leader of warriors, was my father’s heir. Finbar would be Johnny’s heir when the time came. There were several reasons for this line of succession to the chieftaincy, one of which was that Finbar had been born relatively late in my parents’ lives. It was possible my father might die before his only son was a grown man. I had not until now considered that being chieftain of Sevenwaters, with the heavy weight of responsibility that role carried, might not suit Finbar at all. He looked such a frail child, shadowy and insubstantial, as if he bore a load too heavy for such small shoulders.
“Do you know how to skip stones across the water, Finbar?” I asked.
He looked at me as if I had said something silly. “That’s for little children.”
“Oh, big ones, too,” I said calmly. “There’s no rule that says you have to stop having fun when you turn six or seven, you know. My sisters and I used to compete to see who could get the longest distance or the most skips. Clodagh usually won, but I was second best.”
“Show me.”
A little pause; Luachan did not step in to help me. “I can’t do it anymore, Finbar,” I said. “You’ll have to skip them for me, and Luachan can be your competition. Let’s see if we can find some good stones. Flat ones go best. Not too heavy and not too light. About the weight of a small egg.”
“You’ll get your shoes wet,” observed the druid as I moved off the track onto the pebbly shore and crouched down to hunt for the perfect stone.
“You’re afraid of wet feet?” I challenged. “Or concerned that a seven-year-old might beat you?”
In a moment he was hunkered down beside me, finding his own stone. “Best of three,” he muttered. “Believe it or not, I used to be good at this.”
Finbar took a long time selecting his three perfect stones. It seemed to me he chose as much for color and pattern as for anything. Each of them he brought to me and made me lay it on my palm to feel the weight and to give it my approval. The one I judged too heavy was laid carefully back in the spot where he had found it and replaced by another of the same dove gray.
“Ready?” asked Luachan, who was standing by the water’s edge—his sandals were indeed wet, as was the hem of his robe—with his stones in his hand. “Maeve, I rely on you to be an impartial judge.”
“Finbar should have a few practice throws before you start.”
“That’s all right,” said my brother, his tone all calm composure.
The druid gazed out over the shining waters of the lake, weighed his first stone in his hand, drew back his arm and flicked the stone expertly across the surface. It was impossible not to see what a fine stance he had, what economy and power of movement. If I had not been told already that he was something of a warrior, I thought I might have guessed in those few moments. The stone skipped across the lake surface, once, twice, five times before it sank.
“My turn now.” Finbar did as I would have done, squatting down to throw. In view of the lack of rehearsal, I expected his missile to bounce once if he was lucky. He drew back his hand, and with an economical movement of the wrist released the stone. It hardly seemed like a throw, but the stone danced over the water, bouncing four times, then vanishing like a diving bird.
“Remarkably good for a first attempt,” I said. Clearly, no concessions were required. “Luachan wins the first round. Ready for the next? You should go first this time, Finbar; that’s fair.”
In the second round Finbar’s stone bounced six times, Luachan’s five again.
“Third and deciding round,” I said.
“No more.” Finbar’s small voice was firm. “It’s time to walk on now.”
“Are you sure?” He had surprised me again. Was this game too simple for him?
“Yes. Thank you for showing me, Maeve.” Solemn as a little owl.
“That’s all right. I know a lot of games. But it’s a while since I played most of them.”
We walked on, my shoes and Luachan’s sandals squelching as we went.
“Did you play games with Bounder?” Finbar asked.
A silence drew out, punctuated by our footsteps on the pathway and the gushing of a nearby stream. What to answer? The easy lie: no. The bare truth: yes. Or the difficult answer the question deserved? Come on, Maeve. I thought you prided yourself on honesty.
“I remember Doran making me a ball out of hide strips,” I made myself say. “Bounder liked chasing it, but he wasn’t so keen on bringing it back. And he loved a good tug-of-war.” Ten years, and it still hurt to talk about him.
“Teafa had puppies not long ago,” Finbar said. “Three of them. You could keep one if you liked.”
“Father already offered and I said no.” It came out too sharply. This wasn’t Finbar’s fault. “What about you? Don’t you want a dog of your own?”
He shook his head solemnly. “The chieftain of Sevenwaters always has a pair of wolfhounds. Father told me. But that’s not for a long time yet. If I got a dog now it might die before I needed it.”
He had shocked me again. “But you might want one, just because it’s lovely to have a dog for a friend and companion. That’s why Father has Broccan and Teafa, I’m sure, not because it’s…expected.”
“If it’s lovely,” Finbar said, “why don’t you want a puppy?”
“Enough, Finbar.” Luachan had not contributed to this conversation, but now his tone conveyed an order. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, glancing at me.
I felt somewhat annoyed that he thought to protect me from my brother’s piercing honesty. “It’s all right, Finbar,” I said. “It’s because I miss Bounder too much. He can’t ever be replaced.” And since I had gone so far, I might as well give him all of it. “Besides, after what happened that night, the night I lost him, I don’t think I can trust myself to look after another dog. I’d always be worried that I might do it again. Or something like it.”
The two of them looked at me as if I’d said something ridiculous. “It makes perfect sense,” I said, fixing my gaze on the path ahead.
We walked on in silence to a point where the track branched, one path continuing along the lakeshore, the other heading up into the forest.
“We could take you to see the place I mentioned,” Luachan said. “The pasture, the animals and so on. It’s a longish walk. You may be tired.”
“We have food,” Finbar put in, glancing at the bag the druid had slung over his shoulder.
“Honey cakes,” said Luachan. “A flask of mead, watered to suit young tastes. Some apples. We’re planning to eat when we reach the nemetons.”
I wished I had waited for Rhian. Still, when it came to the point I could always say I wasn’t hungry. “I’d like to see the place. But I mustn’t be away too long or Rhian will worry about me. I told her I’d be at the stables.”
“Duald saw us all together,” Luachan said easily. “Your maidservant will doubtless ask him and reach the right conclusion. Shall we move on, then?”
It was a long way, but I was used to walking. The cool damp air of the forest, the crunch of the firs
t fallen leaves underfoot, the high chorus of birdsong calmed and restored me. My companions did not attempt further conversation, either with me or with each other. As we made our way up and down the paths, over gurgling streamlets and under venerable oaks, I thought about Bounder, and why I could not forgive myself for what had happened. Bounder had been first in my prayers every night since he had come into my life as a six-week pup; prayers were not an easy habit to break, even when one hardly believed in any god. He was still first. Father had been right when he said guilt was hard to get rid of. Perhaps I would still be mourning Bounder’s loss when I was an old woman. People would think me crazy, with good reason. That vision came to me again, my figure on the stairs of the keep, and visitors muttering my story in voices hushed with pity. I did not much care for the image.
A pox on it, now I had to relieve myself. Why hadn’t I waited for Rhian?
“I’m sorry,” I murmured. “Could you wait a bit? I need to…”
The very poised Luachan surprised me by blushing. Finbar sat down on a fallen tree. He eyed me. I could see him wondering whether to offer help and deciding not to.
“I won’t be long.”
The business was a little awkward, what with the need to hold my gown out of the way, deal with my stockings, and make sure I returned before anyone came looking. I had ways of performing certain essential tasks, ways I’d had to develop. I was crouched there, clawing up a stocking, when something moved in the undergrowth not far away. I froze. If anything was going to spring out and surprise me, I surely didn’t want it to happen when I was at such a disadvantage.
Nothing. Whatever it was, it had become still when I had, for there was not the least movement now amid that profusion of ferns and bushes. The light was dim here; I was well off the track. Luachan and Finbar were out of sight behind the bole of a massive oak. I bent to finish my work with the stocking. There was a furtive rustling, a sound made by something a great deal larger than a bird or squirrel or hedgehog. And now, as I straightened, I saw it for a moment, dark, solid, padding swiftly away under the trees. A dog. A big black dog.
No need to wait until you’re old, I told myself, hauling too hard on the second stocking. My fingers tore a hole; Rhian would not be pleased with me. You’re crazy already. My mind was so much on Bounder that I was seeing him everywhere. If there was a dog running wild in the Sevenwaters forest, it wasn’t likely to be a perfect copy of my long-dead friend. It had probably been a pig. Or my mind conjuring up what I wanted to see. I rose to my feet.
Another black form slunk across my vision, a little smaller than the first but shaped much the same. Head down, tail down, shoulders hunched, ribs stark under the pelt…It was gone. Two dogs. Two Bounders. This was ridiculous. I would fix my mind on something completely different, such as how to coax a smile out of my little old man of a brother. I checked my gown to make sure it was not caught up anywhere, and walked back to my companions. “I’m ready to go on.” I was tempted to tell them what I had seen, but held back. I could just imagine what questions Finbar could get out of that.
At a certain point the forest thinned out, and we walked into a broad clearing ringed by tall trees. In the center stood a great circle of mossy stones. The grass around them had been scythed short; it was clearly a place of ritual. I glimpsed various low buildings set back under the trees, but nobody seemed to be about.
“We’ll walk down to the place I mentioned,” Luachan said, “and eat our provisions there. The track goes through that way.” He pointed ahead toward a stand of birches. “You can take a look, Maeve, and see if you think your charge might be happy in our fields.”
“The decision’s not up to me,” I said, following him along the path he’d indicated. “This is quite a distance from the keep. It’s possible Father might think it’s too far.”
“After what you did at the stables earlier,” said the druid, “Lord Sean will at the very least listen to your opinion. It was remarkable. Your audience was deeply impressed.”
“It’s a useful skill.” His praise made me feel awkward. “It counts little against the things I can’t do.”
Luachan raised his brows at me. “You keep some kind of tally?”
I pressed my lips together so I would not say something discourteous. What could he know, with his fine healthy body and his handsome face, his life as druid and tutor and scribe and guard? A man blessed with natural advantages and opportunities could not possibly understand what it was to be me.
“I don’t need to,” I said. “I see the tally in people’s eyes when they look at me. And don’t say you’re sorry. That was a simple statement of fact, not a bid for sympathy.” I changed the subject before he had a chance to respond. “Luachan, do you know my uncle Ciarán at all well?”
He walked in silence for a little before he answered. “Everyone knows him. A man of hidden depths, I believe. Do you remember him from before?”
“Not clearly. I was young. I suppose we will be reintroduced. Father was saying Ciarán might become chief druid now Conor is gone.”
“Perhaps.”
“Only perhaps? Are there several eligible people? How is such a choice made?”
“I’m told time is allowed for prayer and reflection, and then there is a discussion. If the brethren are not in agreement, a vote may take place.” After a moment he added, “Ciarán is generally thought to be the most likely choice.”
I sensed a but in this statement; Luachan did not offer more, however, and it did not feel right to ask. Perhaps Ciarán’s heritage made some people hesitate. He was the son of a Sevenwaters chieftain, certainly. He was also the son of a dark and twisted woman of the Fair Folk, my great-grandfather’s second wife. I did not know a great deal about Ciarán’s life before he joined the brotherhood. In my judgment, what lay in his past was less important than what kind of man he was now. But perhaps druids weighed up these things differently.
We made our way through the birch grove, walking beside the stream, and emerged to a broader clearing divided into three walled fields. In one section a few cows grazed, each attended by a trio of geese. In the second, a flock of plump hens was searching busily for insects in the grass, overseen by a watchful cockerel. The third contained a solitary goat. There were water troughs and sturdy-looking shelters. On the other side of the fields a larger hut stood under the oaks, with a walled area for a garden and a lean-to that might provide refuge for creatures in stormy weather. No smoke arose from the hut’s chimney, and the shutters were closed. It had a forlorn look, somewhat like that of the goat.
“Who lives there?” I asked.
“Nobody at present,” said Luachan. “It’s used mainly for visitors, since it’s situated somewhat apart from our own dwellings. Most recently it housed that cousin of your father’s, the woman from Galicia, and her husband. They stayed here awhile at Ciarán’s invitation. He—Conri—was uncomfortable among folk, at least at first. The hut suited them, modest as it is. We might sit on the steps to eat our food.”
The awkward moment came, when we were settled there and Luachan had spread out the provisions on their cloth. He offered me the mead flask first. It was somewhat too heavy for me to manage easily, but my arms were strong, and I held it between my wrists, tipped it up and drank without spilling the contents over myself or dropping the flask on the ground. I looked the druid in the eye as I passed it back, and he said nothing at all.
“Did you know Maeve can eat with her toes?” said my brother. “She’s good at it; I’ve seen her.”
There was a brief silence. “Impressive,” said Luachan.
If he expected a demonstration, he was going to be disappointed. “I’m not very hungry,” I said. “Please, go ahead and eat.”
Finbar met my eye; his expression told me he saw right through my lie. He busied himself breaking up a honey cake, then taking a knife and slicing off pieces of apple as if he’d fed a crippled sister hundreds of times before. When he reached toward me with a bite-sized piece of cake in
his hand, I let him put it between my fingers. Of course, he had watched Rhian doing this very thing for me.
“Thank you, Finbar,” I said. “Perhaps I do feel a little hungry.”
My brother was meticulous: one mouthful for me, one for himself. Luachan made no comment, but sat quietly eating his own share. Peace settled over me once more. In the fields the animals foraged or grazed in apparent content, and a chorus of birds sang in the trees all around. While the depths of the forest were dark and shadowy even on a bright day, here in this open place the sun cast its light on mossy stones and verdant grass, on the nut-brown pelts of the cows and the bright flowers that grew wild at their feet. There was no sign of any druids, though now I could see the smoke from a hearth fire rising a short distance away.
“It must be good to live here,” I said. “Not that I have any sort of spiritual vocation, unlike my sister Sibeal, of whom you’ve doubtless been told. But I like the quiet of it. I like being close to the forest.”
Luachan lifted his well-shaped brows. “The keep is surrounded by forest,” he observed.
“A keep is a keep. Ladies are generally expected to spend a good deal of their time indoors, or at least within the protective walls, performing various useful tasks.” I had talked myself into another trap. I did not know this young man well at all, and I had no wish to reveal myself further to him. “I prefer the outdoors.”
“You like horses, don’t you?” Finbar observed. “Are you sad that you can’t ride?”
“Not really, Finbar. I was never a keen rider as a child, not like Eilis. At Harrowfield they let me help a lot in the stables. I may not be able to rub a horse down or muck out a stall, but I do seem to be able to talk to animals, even the difficult ones. All the same, I don’t think Duald appreciated my help this morning.”