“I see,” I said tightly.
“I’m sorry if this is distressing for you.” Sean’s tone was kind; that only seemed to make me feel worse. “It makes no difference to your welcome here, Fainne. You bear no responsibility for the actions of your parents. You are a daughter of this household and will be treated as such.”
“You just prefer me to pretend I have no father, is that it?” These words were out before I could stop them, before I could veil the anger in my voice. How dare they? How dare they ask me to deny my strong, clever, wise father, who had been everything to me?
“This hurts you,” said Conor. “He was a youth of outstanding qualities. No doubt he became a man to be proud of. We understand that. Niamh and Ciarán were young. They made a mistake, and they paid for it dearly. There is no need for you to pay as well.”
“This can be handled with no need for lies.” It appeared that Sean had already made the decision. “We can simply provide folk with as much of the truth as suits our purpose. There is no reason why Niamh should not have wed again after her husband’s death. We will let it be known that your father was a druid of good family. We will say that Niamh bore her daughter in the south, some time after Fionn’s untimely passing. You are now returned to your rightful home and the protection of your family. That must be explanation enough. Few people outside the nemetons knew of Ciarán’s existence, let alone his true identity. As for our guests of the alliance, we will not draw undue attention to your presence while they are in the house. Eamonn could be a problem.”
“A pity Liadan is not here,” observed Conor.
“We’ll need to let her know,” Sean said. “I’ll do that. You look weary, niece. Perhaps you should ride with me the last part of the way.”
“I’m fine,” I said, gritting my teeth. It was asking a lot: that I go into some dank, dreary place where endless trees blocked out the west wind, deny my father, let some girl tell me what to do and be my watchdog, and take care not to draw attention to myself, all because of their precious alliance. It was becoming rapidly apparent to me that I would have to listen hard and learn quickly if I were to have any chance of achieving the task my grandmother had set me. The men of Sevenwaters were clever and confident; these two would be formidable opponents, and there might well be more like them when we got there. There were complications here I could not even guess at, alliances and strategies and power plays. I had learned nothing in Kerry to prepare me for this. Who was Eamonn? Why would he be a problem? My father had never mentioned such a person. I would find out. And for now I would play Uncle Sean’s game. But inside me, I would never forget whose daughter I was. Never. These were the men who had snatched away my father’s hope and quenched my mother’s dreams. Maybe they had put that behind them, but I would not forget it.
We crossed a lot of streams gurgling downhill under the trees. Then we came out from under a stand of willows, and before us there opened a great, shimmering expanse of water, its surface clear and light in the sun and dotted with little islets and the forms of drifting birds: geese, ducks, perfect white swans. We halted.
“The lake of Sevenwaters,” said Sean softly. “Our keep is on the far side, to the east. The track is easy from here. You’re doing well, Fainne.”
I took a deep breath and tried to ease my aching back. I was glad to see the water; to be free of that endless prison of trees closing in around me. The lake was very beautiful, with its pearly sheen, its wide surface open to the sky, its little quiet coves and its unseen, secret life.
“Seven streams flow into the lake,” said Conor. “They are its lifeblood. There is only one way out; the river that flows north and then eastward to the great water. The lake nourishes the forest. The forest guards the folk of Sevenwaters, and it is their sacred charge to defend and protect it and all the mysteries it holds. This you will come to know in time.”
“Maybe,” I said. And maybe, I thought, you will come to know that all is not as it seems; that for some, the path does not always lead to light and order. You may learn that life can be cruel and unjust.
“You could let her go now,” said Conor.
“What?”
“You could let her go now. The owl. See how she looks out and turns her head skywards. She’s ready to go back.”
I stared at him, mute, and the small owl climbed out of my pocket to perch, teetering a little, on the back of the horse’s neck. The bird was somewhat steadier now, for I had tended it carefully enough. But this was no Aoife. The horse shuddered and shied, and I gripped its mane and clung on to keep from being thrown. In an instant my uncle Sean had the creature’s bridle in his hand and was holding her still, with calming words.
“What is that?” he asked, in a tone reminiscent of Darragh’s.
As for Conor, he sat there silent. Having stirred up trouble, he now left me to deal with it.
“It was captive. I—traded for it. That was all. It wouldn’t fly away.”
“I have never seen an owl so small, yet fully grown. There’s some magic in this, surely.” Sean’s tone was quite matter-of-fact. I should not, I suppose, have been surprised at that, for this was Sevenwaters, a place where old mysteries were kept safe.
“She won’t go until it’s undone,” Conor said, moving his horse closer. “Shall I?” He reached out a hand and passed it gently over the tiny creature, and immediately the bird was itself again: still small, still somewhat bedraggled, but owl-size, and strong enough to make its own way in the woods. Sean was having difficulty controlling the wild-eyed horse.
“Go safe now,” said Conor, and obediently the creature spread its tattered wings and flew, with never a sound, with never a look back; up, up into the treetops, and away into the shadowy embrace of the forest. I said not a word.
“You did well, bringing her home.” Conor’s tone was tranquil.
“I didn’t bring her,” I said rather crossly. “She gave me no choice.”
“There’s always a choice,” said the druid.
There were altogether too many of them. Girls everywhere: spilling down the steps of the stone keep where at last we ended our journey, bigger girls tugging at their father’s hands, chattering and laughing as their mother came out to greet me, tiny girls running about and teasing the huge dogs.
“Enough, daughters,” said Sean with a smile, and in an instant they disappeared, as obedient as they were exuberant. I had not been able to count, they were so quick. Five? Six?
“I’m your aunt Aisling,” said the slight, rather severe-looking woman who stood on the steps. A neat veil kept her red hair in place, and her freckled face was intent and serious. “You’re very welcome here, as no doubt my husband has told you. It’s a busy time. We have many guests in the house. Muirrin will look after you.”
“Where is Muirrin?” inquired my uncle as we made our way inside. The horses had been quickly led away. As for Conor, he had quite simply vanished. Perhaps the bevy of little girls had been too much for him.
“We’ll find her,” said my aunt in capable tones. “You’d best get back to the Council. They’re waiting for you.”
“The representative from Inis Eala should be here today,” my uncle said. “Perhaps we can conclude this on time after all.” He turned to me. “I’ll leave you now, niece. That was a long ride for a novice. You’d best rest those aching limbs. Muirrin should have a potion or two that will help. Perhaps we’ll meet again at supper.”
They seemed to think Muirrin was the answer to everything. I formed an image of her in my mind that was completely at odds with the girl we tracked down some time later, at work in a very small, rather dark room at the back of the house.
The first thing I noticed was how tiny she was; little and slender, with big green eyes, and her father’s dark curls tied roughly back from her face, to keep them from her work. She was chopping up what looked like toadstools, with a rather large, dangerous-looking knife. She was concentrating hard and humming under her breath. Around her were shelves crammed with
jars and bottles; bunches of drying flowers and herbs hung overhead, and a plait of garlic festooned the window. Behind her a door stood open to a little garden.
“Muirrin,” said her mother, with just a touch of sharpness. “Here is your cousin Fainne. Did you forget?”
The girl looked up, her large eyes unsurprised.
“No, Mother. I’m sorry I was not there. I had a message from the cottages—this is needed urgently. How are you, Fainne? I’m your cousin Muirrin. Eldest of six. You’ll have met my sisters, I should think?” She gave a wry smile, and I found myself smiling back.
“I’m rather busy,” Aunt Aisling said. “Perhaps—?”
“Off you go, Mother. I’ll look after Fainne. Are her things here, for unpacking?”
I explained somewhat reluctantly about Dan Walker and the carts and my little chest, and by the time I had finished, my aunt was gone.
“Sit down,” said Muirrin. “I need to finish this, and give it to someone to deliver. Then I’ll show you around. There, by the fire. Want some tea? The water’s boiling. Use the second jar on the left—that’s it—it’s a mixture of peppermint and thyme, quite refreshing. Cups over there. Could you make me some too?”
While she talked her hands kept up the steady, meticulous chopping of the bronze-colored fungi on the stone slab before her. I watched as she measured spices and strained oils and finally poured her dark, pungent-smelling mixture into a small earthenware jar, which she corked neatly.
“Here’s your tea,” I said.
“Oh, good. I’ll just wash my hands and—excuse me a moment, will you?” She stuck her head out the door to the garden. “Paddy?” she called.
A roughly dressed lad appeared, and was given the jar, and a set of instructions which she had him repeat several times to ensure no errors.
“And tell them I’ll be down myself later to check on the old man. Be sure you tell them.”
“Yes, my lady.”
I had been glad enough to sit and watch her. Now, as she seated herself and took her cup between small, capable hands, I found it hard to know what to say. She was so confident, and so self-contained.
“Well,” she ventured. “A long journey. You’ll be wanting to wash, and rest, and have some time to yourself. And you’ll be stiff from riding, I expect. I have a salve for that. What if we talk a little, and then I’ll show you your room, and get you some spare things, and leave you on your own until later? I need to go down to the cottages; tomorrow, perhaps, you might come with me. Today, the main thing will be protecting you from my sisters. They do make a lot of noise.”
“I noticed.”
“Not used to so many folk?”
I relaxed a little. “It was very quiet at home. There were fishermen, and in summer the traveling folk came. But we kept ourselves to ourselves.”
Muirrin nodded, her green eyes serious.
“You’ll find it quite the opposite here. Especially now. The house is full of people, for the Council. And they don’t like each other. Suppertimes can be quite interesting. You’ll need to find out who’s who, learn a few names. I’ll help you. But not yet. First things first.”
“Thank you. Did you say six sisters?”
Muirrin grimaced. “It’s indeed so; myself and five more, and never a lad among us. It’s just as well my aunt had boys, or Sevenwaters would be scratching for an heir.”
“Your aunt? That would be—?”
“Our aunt Liadan. My father’s twin. He had daughters. She had sons. The túath will go from uncle to nephew, as it has done before. My father is not discontent with that.”
“What are your sisters’ names?”
“You really want to know? Deirdre, Clodagh, Maeve, Sibeal and Eilis. You’ll learn those quick enough. They’ll keep reminding you which is which, until you do.”
I got a lightning tour of the house, which was more comfortable inside than its grim, fortified exterior suggested. Muirrin kept me clear of the council room, whose doors were closed. The kitchen was bustling with activity: birds being plucked, pastry rolled, and a huge iron pot bubbling over the fire. The heat was fierce, the smell delicious. We were about to move on when a peremptory voice from the hearth stopped us in our tracks.
“Muirrin! Bring the girl here, lass!”
There was a very old woman seated on a bench by the fire. This was no disheveled crone, but a gaunt upright creature with dark hair pulled back into a big knot at the nape of her neck, and a fringed shawl around her bony shoulders. Her skin was wrinkled, but her eyes were very shrewd. It seemed to me nobody would dare set a foot wrong in the kitchen while she was there.
“Well, it can’t be Niamh,” she said as we approached. “So it must be Niamh’s daughter, for it’s her to the last hair of her head. Now that’s something I never thought I’d see.”
“This is Janis,” said Muirrin, as if that should mean something. “She’s been at Sevenwaters longer than anyone.” She turned back to the old woman. “Fainne has come all the way from Kerry, Janis. I was just taking her to rest.”
The dark eyes narrowed. “Kerry, eh? Then I know whose cart you came in on. So where’s Dan? Why isn’t he here to see me? Where’s Darragh?”
This, then, was the auntie much mentioned.
“Dan’s on his way,” I said, “and Peg too. But Darragh’s not coming.”
“What? How can the lad be not coming? Stopped to look at a likely piece of horseflesh, has he? Playing for a wake?”
“No,” I said. “He’s not coming at all. He’s left the traveling life and settled on a farm in the west. Training horses. A great opportunity. That’s what they say.”
“And what do you say?”
“Me? It’s nothing to me.”
She was unconvinced. “Training horses, eh? That wouldn’t keep him off the road for long. Must be a lass in it somewhere. What else would it be?”
“There’s no lass,” I said severely. “Just a chance to better himself. He made a wise choice.”
“You think so?” said the old woman, staring at me with her piercing dark eyes. “Then you don’t know my Darragh very well. He’s a traveling man, and a traveling man never settles. He might try; but sooner or later the road calls him, and he’ll be off again. Different for a woman. She might yearn for it, but she can manage without it for the sake of a man, or a bairn. Well, go on then, off with you. Muirrin, make sure the lass gets her mother’s old room. Put the little ones up the north end. And don’t forget to give the bedding a good airing.”
She spoke as if she were the mistress of the house and Muirrin a servant. But Muirrin smiled, and when we had made our way upstairs to a neat chamber whose narrow window looked out to the edge of the forest, the first thing she did was make up the fire and check the straw-filled mattress and woollen quilts. I decided my ideas of what life would be like in a great house such as Sevenwaters were badly in need of revision.
I had no wish to be grateful to Muirrin. I did not want to become her friend. I could not afford to be anyone’s friend, if I were to carry out my grandmother’s will. But I was forced to admit my cousin showed good judgment. What I longed for most was to be alone. The need to meet so many new people, and smile, and be polite, had taken its toll on me. Muirrin simply checked that I had all I wanted, and left me with a promise to return later. The chamber was to be mine alone, two beds or no. It would not hurt Deirdre and Clodagh one little bit to move, she had told me with a smile.
Later, there was a polite tap on the door, and a man brought in my little chest. It felt very strange to unpack in the room that had once been my mother’s. Perhaps she had shared it with her sister, the Aunt Liadan they all spoke of. I had few belongings. I took out one of the good gowns and laid it flat, for later. I extracted a crumpled and cross-looking Riona and sat her in the window embrasure, looking out over the forest. Here, there seemed no special reason to hide her. It was a house of girls; probably there were dolls here aplenty. In fact, she seemed more at home here than I did. I could not rest
, despite my aches and pains. My mind was too busy trying to make some sense of it all. The magnitude of the task before me meant I had no time to waste. I must find out as much as I could, and then I must formulate some sort of plan. I could not be idle. Grandmother would look, and she would find me. I had been a fool to doubt that. It was a branch of the craft I had little aptitude for, one which had frustrated and eluded me. But she, with her dark mirror, her bowl of still water, she had the skill to search and the eye to see. When she sought me there would be no place to hide.
It took time. It took courage as well. There were so many people, and so much noise, and apart from Muirrin nobody seemed to understand how much I hated that. It made my stomach clench tight and my head ache and my fingers long to make some mischief of their own. But I did not use the craft. Instead I watched and listened, and soon enough, with an application which was second nature to me after years of Father’s tutelage, I learned the intricacies of the family and their allies.
There were the folk of this household, the keep of Sevenwaters, which was the center of my uncle Sean’s vast túath. Him I could tolerate. Sometimes he seemed a little distant, but when he spoke to me it was as to an equal, and he took the time to explain things. I never saw him being less than fair to any of his household. I was forced to remind myself that it had been he, among others, who had banished my mother from her home. It did not seem to me that Uncle Sean would be dangerous, except maybe on the field of battle, or in a debate of strategy. Then there was Aunt Aisling. Just watching her made me tired. She was perpetually busy, supervising every aspect of the household with a whirlwind energy that totally consumed her day. As a result, the place moved with a seamless efficiency. I wondered if she was ever happy. I wondered why you would have so many children when you scarcely had time to bid them good morning before you were off again to attend to some more pressing business.
Child of the Prophecy Page 14
