Going right in, as Peg had put it, proved more difficult than I could have imagined. We came across grazing fields and up a slope to a rocky outcrop. The forest was before us, encircled by hills, stretching out like a huge dark blanket. It was daunting; a place of mystery and shadows, another world, cloaked and secret. I could not comprehend how anyone could choose to live in such a place. Would it not suffocate the spirit, to be deprived of the wind and the waves and the open spaces? In my pocket the small owl stirred. And before us on the track, where there had been nobody at all, suddenly there was a troop of armed men dressed in the same dark colors as the stones and trees around us. Their leader stood out, for over his jerkin he wore a tunic of white, emblazoned with a blue symbol: two torcs interlinked.
“Dan Walker, traveling man of Kerry,” said Dan calmly, getting down off the cart without being asked. “You know me. My wife, my daughter. We’ve come from Glencarnagh. I’m hopeful of Lord Sean’s hospitality for a night or two.”
The men came around both sides of the cart, poking and prodding at the contents. They had swords and knives, and two of them were armed with bows. There was a grim efficiency about the whole exercise.
“Tell your people to step down while we search,” said the leader.
“We’re traveling folk.” Dan’s tone was mild. “There’s not a thing in here but pots and pans and a basket or two. And the girls are weary.”
“Tell them to step down.”
We did as we were told. Standing by the track, we watched as a methodical search took place, through every single item on the cart. Even my little wooden chest was not spared. I did not like to see the men at arms taking out Riona and touching her silken skirts with their big hands. Eventually they were finished. The leader ran his eye over us. Roisin winked at him, but his face remained impassive. He looked at me and his expression sharpened.
“Who’s this girl?”
He was scrutinizing me closely, and I was scared. These were druid folk, weren’t they? Maybe he could look into my eyes and read my grandmother’s ill intent there. Maybe they would stop me before I had even started, and then my father would be punished. Quick as a flash I used the Glamour, subtly, to give my face a sweetness and my eyes a dewy innocence. I looked up at the man-at-arms through my long lashes.
“She’s Lord Sean’s niece from Kerry,” said Dan. “Fainne. Entrusted to me for safekeeping on the journey here. She’s to stay on awhile at Sevenwaters when we travel back.”
“Niece?” said the man, but his voice had softened a little. “I don’t know anything about any niece.”
“Send a message to Lord Sean, if you will. Tell him his sister’s daughter is here. He’ll let us through.”
The armed men retreated to confer in private. There were glances in my direction, and more than one in Roisin’s as well.
“Worse than last time,” commented Peg. “Guard’s increased. Must be something afoot.”
“They’ll let us through,” said Dan.
There was quite a wait. The first night was spent camped by the guard post, while a man rode off down a near-invisible forest track bearing a message for my uncle. The next morning, very early, we were roused by the sound of muffled hoofbeats on the soft soil. While I was still putting aside my blankets and rubbing the sleep from my eyes, two men rode up and dismounted on the track and Dan Walker went forward to greet them. Two gray dogs, the size of small ponies, stood guard by the horses.
“My lord.”
“Dan Walker, isn’t it? No need for formality. I trust you’ve slept safe here.”
The man who spoke must be my uncle Sean. He had an authority about him which marked him instantly as a leader. He was of middle years, not so tall, but strongly built, with dark curling hair pulled tightly back from his face. His clothes were plain and serviceable, but of fine quality, and he, too, wore the symbol of the linked torcs. The other man, standing behind him, I could not see.
“I hear,” said my uncle, “that you’ve brought us an unexpected visitor.”
Dan Walker gave a little cough. “Promised her safekeeping to your door, my lord. She dwells close by the place we make our summer camp. The girl’s called Fainne.”
Because I could put it off no longer, I walked across to stand by Dan’s side. I looked up at my uncle Sean and gave a guarded smile.
“Good morning, Uncle,” I said very politely.
His expression changed as if he’d seen a ghost. “Brighid save us,” he said softly. “You’re your mother’s daughter, sure enough.”
Then one of the very large dogs pushed past possessively to plant itself squarely in front of him, growling low in its throat as it fixed its fierce eyes on me.
“Enough, Neassa,” my uncle said, and the hound fell silent, but still she watched me. “You’re most welcome to our home, Fainne.” He leaned forward to kiss me on one cheek and then the other. “This is quite a surprise.”
“I’m sorry if it’s inconvenient.”
“You’ll certainly find us in some upheaval at present, for we are in the midst of a major endeavor. But there’s a welcome for you at Sevenwaters, nonetheless. It will be best if you ride back with us. We’ve brought you a suitable mount. Dan and his folk can follow at more leisure, with an escort.”
“No need for that,” said Dan. “Besides, I did undertake to bring the lass all the way to Sevenwaters itself. My instructions were quite particular.”
Lord Sean’s eyes narrowed just a touch. “An escort is required for all coming in, and for all going out, friend or no. It’s as much for your own protection as anything. The days of slipping into Sevenwaters for a wedding or a wake are long gone. These are dangerous times. As for my niece, she is assured of safety with her family. You would not question that, surely?”
Dan gave a wry smile. “No, my lord,” he replied.
“You may wish to take a little time to ready yourself.” My uncle looked at me more closely, perhaps observing the rumpled gown, the unplaited hair. “A bite to eat, maybe. But don’t be too long. It’s quite a ride.”
He drew Dan slightly away, as if to confer out of earshot, and now I could see the other man, his silent companion, waiting at a short distance, holding the bridles of three horses in his hand. This was a much older man, with soft, glossy hair that had once been chestnut brown but now was frosted with white; hair in which many small plaits had been woven and tied with colored thread. He had a curiously unlined face and serene, ageless gray eyes; he wore a long white robe that shifted and changed about him, although there was no wind. He bore a staff of birch; and the pale morning sun shone on the golden torc around his neck.
“You know me, I think.” The voice was a druid’s voice, soft, like music, a trap to the ear and to the mind.
“You are Conor, the archdruid?”
“I am. Call me Uncle, if you don’t find that too confusing.”
“I—yes, Uncle.”
“Come closer, Fainne.”
I did so reluctantly. I needed time to prepare for this; time to collect myself, to summon what strength would be required. But there was no time. I looked straight into his eyes, knowing I had his memory of my mother to help me. This man had engineered her downfall. He had sent her away from all that she loved, and in time that had been her death sentence. He looked at me with his calm gray eyes, and I felt most uncomfortable, almost as if he were seeing right inside me. But I stared back, unblinking; I had been well trained.
“Sean was wrong,” said Conor. “I think you’re much more like your father.”
Even in autumn, with leaves spread thick and damp under our horses’ feet, the forest was dark. It seemed to stretch out its hand as we rode deeper and deeper in, enveloping us in shadows. Sometimes there were voices. They called through the air above us, high and strange, but when I looked up, all I could see was a whisper of movement on the very edge of my vision, among the bare twigs of the beeches. It was like cobwebs in the air; it was like a shroud of mist moving faster than the eye could f
ollow. I could not hear the words. The two men rode on unperturbed; if they perceived these tricks of light and shade, it seemed they accepted them as a familiar part of this impenetrable, mysterious landscape. It was secret, enclosed. It felt like a trap.
The pace made no concessions to my weariness, and I clung on grimly, grateful my horse seemed to go the right way without any prompting. Nobody had asked me if I could ride; and I was not about to tell them I had never gone on horseback without Darragh behind me doing all the work. The dogs raced ahead, seeking out scents in the undergrowth. My uncle Sean kept up a friendly conversation as we went. At first it was just polite talk. I thought he was trying to put me at my ease. He let me know there was a council taking place, with many visitors at the house; that it was a time when they needed to be particularly careful, and that he knew I would understand that. He mentioned he had a daughter around my age, who would help me settle in. His wife, my aunt Aisling, would be delighted to see me, for she, too, had once known my mother.
“You understand, we had no idea you were coming until the fellow rode in last night,” he added gravely. “Your father has been sparing with his messages. We’d have welcomed the chance to see you earlier. But Ciarán was effective in limiting contact with our family. We never saw them again, after—after what happened.”
“My father had his reasons,” I said into the rather awkward silence.
Sean nodded. “They could not have returned to Sevenwaters together, that was certain. I remain unconvinced that what he did was right. Still, he has sent you home now. I welcome that. You will find folk rather curious when first you arrive. Muirrin, my eldest daughter, will look after you and help you deal with their questions.”
“Curious?”
“It’s a long time ago now. Your mother’s departure and matters leading up to it have become the stuff of tales here; a little like the story of your grandmother, and the time my uncles spent under a spell, as creatures of the wild. Already folk can scarcely discern the margin between history and legend. That’s the way of things. Your arrival will spark conjecture. Folk will talk for a while. They do not know the truth of what happened to your mother. The whole situation calls for careful handling.”
I did not reply. I was becoming ever more aware of the silent presence of the druid on my other side; of the way he seemed to be watching me, although his eyes were fixed on the track ahead. It felt as if he were assessing me without saying a single word. It made me very uneasy.
“We might make a brief stop,” said Sean, halting his horse in a small clearing. There was a stream, with ferns growing by a pool, and light filtered through from above, giving the moss-cloaked tree trunks an eerie green glow. The tall elms wore mantles of ivy. “I’ll help you down, Fainne.”
I could not suppress a groan of pain when my feet touched the ground, and cramps seized my body.
“Not used to riding,” Sean observed, gathering up pieces of wood to make a fire. “You should have told us.”
I rubbed my sore back, then lowered myself with some difficulty onto the saddle blanket provided. I was indeed weary; but I would not drop my guard, not with that man gazing at me with his bottomless gray eyes.
Sean had rapidly stacked a neat pile of fallen branches. Being lord of Sevenwaters did not seem to have stopped him from acquiring practical skills. The dogs flopped down, long tongues hanging pink from their great open mouths.
“Wood’s a bit damp,” Sean observed, glancing at Conor. “Want to light it for me?”
I looked at the druid, and he looked at me, his pale features impassive.
“Why don’t you light it, Fainne?” he said without emphasis.
I knew at that moment that, whatever I might have to do to outwit this man, I was never going to be able to lie to him. I could not plead girlish ignorance or attempt some kind of bluff. This was a test, and there was only one way to pass it. I raised my hand and pointed a finger at the pile of small logs and twiggy kindling. The fire flared, and caught, and began to burn, steady and hot.
“Thank you,” said Sean, lifting his brows. “Your father taught you a few things, then.”
“One or two,” I replied cautiously, warming my hands at the blaze. “Small tricks, no more.”
Conor sat down on a large flat rock, on the far side of the fire. The flames showed me his face strangely shadowed, his pallor accentuated. The eyes, now, were sharply focused on me.
“You know that Ciarán followed the druid way for many years,” he observed. “Followed it with rare promise and great aptitude.”
I nodded, clenching my teeth in anger. It was all very well for him to say that; he had encouraged my father and lied to him, letting him believe he could become one of the wise ones, when all along he must have known his student was the son of a sorceress. It had been a cruel thing to do.
“You say your father has taught you a few tricks. What of Ciarán himself? How does he live his life? Does he still exercise those skills he possessed in such abundance?”
Why would you care? I thought savagely. But I formed my answer with caution. “We live a very simple life, a solitary life. He searches for knowledge. He practices his craft. He employs it only rarely. That is his choice.”
Conor was silent for a while. Then he asked, “Why has he sent you back?”
Sean glanced at him, frowning slightly.
“A reasonable question.” Conor’s tone was mild. “Why now? Why would he choose to bring up a daughter on his own, and send her away after—what is it—fifteen, sixteen years?”
“Perhaps he thinks Fainne has a better chance of a good marriage, of some reasonable prospects, if she lives here with the family for a while,” Sean said. “That’s only practical. She has a birthright, like all the other children of Sevenwaters, for all—” he stopped himself abruptly.
“Fainne?” Conor was not going to let his question go unanswered.
“We thought it was time.” This seemed to me a good answer. It was true; and it gave nothing away.
“So it appears,” said Conor, and that was the end of it for now. He did not ask, Time for what?
All too soon we were back on our horses and riding forward again.
“It’s a little awkward, Fainne,” Sean said after a while. “I must be blunt with you, and you may not like this. To reveal your father’s identity to our kinsmen and allies and to the community of Sevenwaters would create a difficulty. It would be extremely awkward for this stage of our negotiations. But I’ve no wish to lie about it.”
“Lie?” My astonishment was quite genuine. “Why would you need to lie?”
He gave a grim smile. “Because even now, all these years later, folk still do not know the truth. Not the whole truth. That Niamh became disturbed in her mind, that she fled to the south and was later widowed, that they do know. Within our own household, a little more, maybe. But it’s thought, generally, that she retired to a Christian convent and later died there. The sudden appearance of a daughter must somehow be explained, for anyone who knew my sister must recognize you instantly as her child.”
I felt Conor’s eyes on me, brooding and intent, though I was looking away.
“Why not tell the truth? My parents loved each other. I know they were unwed; but that is not such great cause for shame. It’s not as if I were a boy, and out to claim lands or leadership.”
Sean looked at Conor. Conor said nothing.
“Fainne,” Sean seemed to be choosing his words with care, “did your father ever explain to you why he could not wed your mother?”
I held my anger in check. “He does not willingly speak of her. I know their union was forbidden by blood. I know that my father left the forest, and the wise ones, when he discovered the truth about his own parentage. Later, he found her again, and that was how I came to be. But it was too late for them.”
There was a little silence.
“Yes,” said Sean. “Dan Walker brought us news of my sister’s death, though as ever he told only what Ciarán had bi
d him tell, no more. It’s a long time ago. You must hardly remember her.”
I tightened my lips and did not reply.
“I’m sorry, Fainne,” Sean said, slowing his horse to a walk as we traversed a gushing stream on its way down the hillside. “Sorry you did not have the chance to know her. For all her faults, my sister was a lovely girl, full of life and beauty. She’d have been proud of you.”
You think so? Then why did she leave us on our own? Why did she choose that way? “Maybe,” I said.
“To the matter in question,” Sean went on. “It’s a little awkward. Your mother was wed to a chieftain of the Uí Néill, a very powerful clan with two warring factions. In recent years we have been called upon to assist the leader of the northern branch in his venture against the Norsemen, and this has taken a toll on our resources and our energies for a long time. Eventually Aed Finnliath triumphed. The invaders have been swept clean from the shores of Ulster, and the peace sealed by a marriage between Aed Finnliath’s daughter and a noble of the Finn-ghaill. Our support of this venture was essential not only for our own security, but to rebuild our ties with the Uí Néil of Tirconnell, which were set back by the failure of your mother’s marriage. This has taken patience and diplomacy of the highest order, in addition to the diversion of our forces from the venture most dear to our hearts. The northern Uí Néill are seated this day at our council table at Sevenwaters while we formulate a strategy for our own enterprise. This will be the most important campaign of our lives. Your arrival presents a difficulty. The husband we so carefully chose for Niamh proved a cruel man, and it was to escape him she fled from a place of apparent safety, all those years ago. That fact is not known outside our family. We let folk know that she was alive; it was generally believed that she had developed a sickness of the mind, and had retreated to a house of prayer. Her husband died soon after; there was no need to speak of what he had done. Only a handful of people knew she went to join your father. Myself; my sister and her husband. My uncles. That is all. Even my wife does not know the full story. That Niamh left Fionn Uí Néill for another man, that she bore a child by a partner forbidden to her, these things are best kept secret, for your own sake as well as that of our alliance.”
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