Heir to Sevenwaters

by Juliet Marillier

  From outside, a harsh, derisive cawing assaulted our ears; Fiacha, without a doubt.

  “No!” I said, suddenly still in Cathal’s arms. “We mustn’t, not even if there’s time, not even if we want it more than anything in the world!”

  “What?” Cathal was struggling to comprehend; his breathing was ragged. He sat up, adjusting his clothing.

  “Cathal! We have to go! We have to get out of here right away! You heard what I said, he’s made me promise to be with him tomorrow if you can’t—”

  “This makes no sense,” he said, but he was getting up and putting on his boots even as he spoke.

  “Trust me,” I said, doing up the clasps of my gown with shaking hands. “I shouldn’t have forgotten myself even for a moment. Saying I wanted your child was just a ruse to get me in here, I never expected him to—that is, of course I want your child, Cathal, but—never mind, I’ll explain it all later. Did I guess right? Does the mirror show you whether he’s watching?”

  “More or less.” He slipped the copper disc into a bag, scooped in a few other items from his worktable, threw on a cloak and looked at me with his brows up. “Is there a plan?” he asked.

  “Not exactly,” I said with a lump in my throat. “I have some friends, and some useful things that may help. But actually I was thinking you would come up with a plan for the next part. I was hoping that once I found you, you might have enough tricks and strategies to do the rest.”

  Cathal looked at me gravely. “I see,” he said, and his mouth quirked into an uneven smile. I wondered if he knew me well enough to guess that this, too, was part of my plan. If he could not rescue me, if he could not lead our escape, he might never regain his self-respect. He needed to defeat his father; he must out-trick the Lord of the Oak. “I’d better think fast, then. Useful things. Such as?”

  We were talking in whispers, for the two guards were doubtless still on duty outside. They would be the first obstacle.

  “Such as this, to start with,” I said, taking the necklace out of my pouch. “Bend closer. I think it will work better if I put it on you.”

  He did not bend but knelt before me, his arms around my waist. His dark eyes were steadfast, solemn. There was no trace of mischief there; perhaps his long lonely wait in the Otherworld had quenched that spark completely. “I love you more than life itself, Clodagh,” he said. “Whatever happens, I want you to know that. I hope I don’t regret this forever. Tonight’s missed opportunity, I mean.” His smile almost broke my heart.

  “There will be other opportunities,” I said, tying the cord around his neck. When I was done, I let my hands rest there a moment. “Better ones. In more comfortable beds. I promise.”

  He brought my hand to his lips. Then he stood up, and his face changed from that of a lover to that of a warrior. “Tell me first,” he said, “what power this charm has.” His fingers went to the necklace with its little white stone.

  “The same as the green glass ring,” I said. “It’s a charm of selfless love; it protects you from harm.” I hesitated, a little embarrassed. “Actually, Ciarán said I’m your talisman; the necklace is extra. I think that means Mac Dara can’t hurt you if you’re with me. But he wouldn’t want to hurt you, anyway.”

  Cathal’s smile was grim. “True. He has plans for me. Clodagh, the bird that screeched outside—is it one of these friends?”

  I nodded. “He knows the way out. He’ll lead us.”

  “Anything else I should know?”

  My mind leapt from Willow’s last story to my discussion with Ciarán to what Mac Dara had revealed about the attack on Glencarnagh. There was no time. “Your mother,” I said, choosing the most important thing. “I heard a tale about her, a true tale. She didn’t kill herself, Cathal. She died trying to protect you from Mac Dara. She sent you away to keep you safe. And she . . .” I halted, seeing from his expression that this was not a surprise. “You know,” I whispered.

  “I have learned much in this place,” Cathal said, and gave me the sweet, uncomplicated smile that he offered so rarely. “Things my father has never dreamed of, Clodagh. I have seen a boy fishing, and a woman on a bridge with her heart in her eyes. I have seen that my mother possessed a capacity for love equal to yours, and the same extraordinary strength of will. I thought that she had failed me. I believed her weak. It was my joy and my sorrow to discover how wrong I had been.” He cleared his throat and added, “We’d best move without delay. Any more surprises?”

  “I have a charm that I can use to conceal us, but only for a short time. I’m supposed to save it until we really need it. Cathal, the spell—the one about setting foot inside the door—that’s vital to our escape. There’s another part to it.” I told him the rest of the verse. “That means there is a way to break the charm, impossible as those lines sound.”

  He lifted his brows. “We must make them possible. But first we must reach a portal. You realize he could decide to seek us in his scrying mirror at any moment? I don’t imagine he trusts you any more than he trusts me, the son who refuses to fulfill his expectations. On the other hand he won’t imagine you have so many tricks up your sleeve. You wouldn’t have something to disable the guards, I suppose?”

  “Sorry,” I said, as a mixture of excitement and terror seized me. We were really going to do this. We were going to pit ourselves against the Lord of the Oak with his power and his magic and his complete lack of conscience. “You’ll have to do that on your own.”

  It was soon apparent that Cathal’s thin, wan appearance did not reflect any fading of his exceptional combat skills. He made me wait inside the cave while he dealt with the guards. I heard muffled shouts, the scuffing of boots on the ground and a squawk, then he was back, only a little out of breath.

  “That bird has a sharp beak,” he commented.

  “Did he hurt you?”

  “Fortunately, he seems to realize I’m on the same side as he is,” Cathal said. “Coming?” He held out his hand and I took it. In his other hand was a dagger that had not been there when he went out. “I won’t kill unless I must,” he added, following my glance. “But my father will be angry, and his anger can be formidable. We’d best run, Clodagh.”

  “How can we see the way?” Beyond the last reach of the flickering candles from within the cave there was now a hint of moonlight, but it barely illuminated the path.

  “I can see well enough. We’ll follow the bird. Keep hold of my hand.”

  We ran, and I reminded myself that the man I loved was only half human, and that if we managed to escape this place I would probably discover far more remarkable things about him than an ability to see in the dark.

  Fiacha did not seem to be leading us back to the portal through which he and I had entered Mac Dara’s realm, though I imagined that was the nearest. We splashed through a shallow stream, climbed a steep hill under beeches, crawled through a mess of prickle bushes—the crow flew over the top—and emerged, trying not to curse aloud, in front of another rock wall. From somewhere higher up, Fiacha cried out in his harsh voice. As soon as I stopped moving my legs began to shake. My breath was coming in gasps.

  “It looks as if we’re supposed to climb,” Cathal said. “I’ll help you, Clodagh. From up there we may get a useful view.”

  The unspoken message was clear: sooner or later Mac Dara must notice that we were gone and come after us. The more ground we covered before then, the better our chances. I clenched my teeth, found hand and footholds in the rock and hauled myself up.

  On my own I couldn’t have done it. Ignoring Fiacha’s impatient cries, Cathal climbed close by me, helping me find my grip, murmuring advice and encouragement, keeping calm even though I was so painfully slow. We were almost at the top when the tone of the crow’s call changed and so did the light. Below us in the forest torches flared, and in the air above us there was a creaking sound, as of leathery wings, and a harsh cry that set terror in me. That call took me back to the raft and those things that had dived and slashed me. My ey
es screwed themselves shut. My hand slipped and I clutched wildly at the rock face.

  “Here.” Cathal’s hand came over mine, directing my fingers to a chink. “Grab hold and pull yourself up; there’s a foothold to the right. Ignore those things. The crow will see them off. You’re about two arm’s lengths from the top, Clodagh. You can do it.”

  “Torches,” I muttered as I pulled myself up. “Down there.”

  “One more stretch . . . Cursed creature!” Cathal swiped at a diving form with one hand while clinging on with the other. “That’s it, Clodagh. Lift your left foot about three hand spans and slightly to the left. Good. You should be able to grip the foliage at the top now, but don’t put all your weight on it . . . Good girl, you’ve done it.” He boosted me over the edge, where I sprawled in a heap. A battle was raging in the air above me, a screeching, creaking, flapping combat. It seemed unwise to look up. I heard Cathal hauling himself over the edge, and a moment later the noises ceased. As I sat up, a black feather floated down onto my lap.

  I made myself look. In the dim light, I saw the crow perched on a low branch nearby, his wings a little tattered, his eyes as bright and shrewd as ever. There was no sign of his opponent. Or opponents. It seemed altogether likely that Fiacha was a warrior unparalleled, the same as Cathal, able to despatch several enemies with ease.

  “Come on,” Cathal said. “We have a momentary advantage, but only that.”

  There was no running here. A dense thicket crowned the rock face, and the moonlight did little to illuminate the narrow pathway down which Fiacha was leading us. We could not walk hand in hand. Cathal made me go next after the crow, with him behind me. Out in the forest there now rang out all manner of noises: furious screams, hollow cries, a spine-chilling wail like that of the banshee. And voices, shouting. The trees were so close together, the net of branches and boughs and twigs, leaves and needles and vines so intricate that the least error could cause a person to be completely lost. I hoped very much that Fiacha’s way would be the best, the safest, the one on which Mac Dara was least likely to find us. It surely wasn’t the quickest.

  “Keep moving,” said Cathal, and I heard an edge in his voice. “Maybe it opens up ahead. This can’t go on forever.”

  He was right. A hundred paces further on the terrain changed again, dense growth giving way abruptly to more open ground. I felt grass underfoot and smelled something sweet, like curative herbs. This was oddly like a shorter version of the way Cathal and I had come in. We clasped hands again and, as Fiacha winged ahead, we ran. My mind was racing through the trials we had endured coming the other way, wondering how many of them we would have to face again, when a line of lights appeared in the gloom ahead. Fiacha flew up and out of sight. Cathal halted, looking back, and when I turned my head I saw a similar array of lights—torches, approaching—not far behind us. Cathal let go of my hand and drew his dagger.

  “Did you say you had a concealment charm?” he whispered.

  “Mm.”

  “Be ready to use it, then. Those are horses, and the riders will be armed. My father won’t want me seriously hurt. But he’ll have no hesitation in using you to force my hand. I think the ring will protect you, but I’d prefer not to put that to the test. It certainly won’t stop him from separating us and despatching you back home. Employ your spell before it comes to that, or this will be over all too quickly. I cannot fight so many.”

  “All right.” I tried to breathe slowly; I tried to remember exactly what Ciarán had told me.

  The riders drew closer. All wore hooded robes of gray; all bore spears or swords or other weapons with spiked or pronged or serrated blades. There were scythelike cutters and stranger items that spoke of spell craft. The two lines approached in silence from before and behind. When they were a certain distance away they deployed in a circle with Cathal and me in the middle. The torches bathed us in a flickering red light.

  One rider guided his horse forward, a tall, black animal with a dangerous eye. The rider dismounted and pushed back his hood. His dark gaze passed over Cathal and fastened on me. “So you were lying after all,” he said. “You wanted far more than a night with my son. You lied to Mac Dara.”

  My heart hammered. “Didn’t you expect that?” I asked. “We’re in your realm, not mine. You must be used to lies.”

  “Perhaps she didn’t tell you,” said the Lord of the Oak, walking closer to Cathal. “Your little human playmate gave me a promise tonight, and I expect people to keep their promises. It’s clear you didn’t perform for her. That may be just as well, since your child would have been forfeit if you had. Your failure means she’s mine. Lord Sean’s daughter promised to bear me another son if you couldn’t give her one. A backup, let’s say, in case you fail to come around to my way of thinking. We’ve seen how much Clodagh likes babies. She’s perfectly happy to rear mine for me in the comfort of her father’s stronghold and give him back when I want him. Isn’t that right, Clodagh?” Beneath his outrageous, gloating smile, I thought I could see well-masked pain.

  I could not look at Cathal. “That’s not quite what I promised,” I said through chattering teeth. “What I said was—”

  “The exact wording is immaterial,” said Mac Dara coolly. “At the very least, you owe me one night for the trouble you’ve caused me. Seize her.”

  Two of his entourage rode forward and dismounted, but before they could step any closer Cathal had put me behind him. “Lay a hand on Clodagh and I’ll kill you,” he said coolly. “I’ll fight you while there’s breath in my body. Of course, if my father is so disgusted with me that he wants me dead, I suppose that might suit him quite well. On the other hand, if you happen to make an end of me it’s possible he may get quite angry. He doesn’t have his replacement yet.”

  Mac Dara raised his black-gloved hand. There was something in the gesture that told me he was not directing his warriors to apprehend me or to attack Cathal, but was preparing to cast a spell. I slipped my hand into my pouch and took out the egg-shaped stone. “Now,” I murmured, and threw it to the ground in front of me.

  Instantly a blinding mist arose, a thick white blanket blotting out trees and rocks and horses, men and women and creatures. I could not see a hand span before my own face. I stood paralyzed, all sense of direction gone.

  “This way!” It was Cathal’s voice, and now Cathal’s hand grasped mine and the two of us were running again, running blind through the vapor as the sound of hooves came after us. Let the portal be near, I prayed. Let us find it soon . . .

  We ran until my legs would barely carry me; until my head was dizzy and my eyes were blurred. Still the mist clung. We could have been anywhere. My chest hurt and my legs ached. The terrain changed again, and now I could see skeletal forms of willow and elder looming through the mist. I could feel the ground underfoot becoming mossy and damp. Somewhere nearby there was a sound of moving water. Cathal’s grip on my hand was tight enough to hurt. He was pulling me after him so fast I could barely stay on my feet. Behind us in the obscurity someone was shouting.

  I was hauled bodily up a rise, over rocks slick with moisture. The eldritch vapor had begun to dissipate; Ciarán’s charm was losing its potency.

  “Got to—catch my breath,” I gasped. “Fiacha—where’s Fiacha?”

  “I can’t imagine.” Cathal sounded odd. Something was wrong. Through the last shreds of mist I looked up at him and my heart stopped. The man who had been leading me, the man whose hand I had been gripping as if my life depended on it, was not Cathal at all. It was his father.

  CHAPTER 16

  I clawed and kicked, trying to wrench away, but he was too strong. He simply took me by the shoulders and held me at arm’s length, his brows raised, his lips twisted as if he found my desperation mildly amusing. There was only one thing I could do. I sucked air into my lungs and screamed, “Cathal! I’m here!”

  There was no reply. Now that the mist was gone, the boles of the trees shone like silver ghosts in the light of a low, invisible m
oon. Beyond them lay a broad, murmuring darkness; surely the same river we had crossed on that rickety raft when first we entered Mac Dara’s realm. On the far bank stood an ancient, half-dead willow, whose weathered branches reached out across the water as if beckoning me home. I saw no raft, no rope. There was something, all the same; a pale line spanning the water, beneath the surface.

  “There’s no point in calling my son,” Mac Dara said, his fingers tightening on my shoulders. “He’s not much of a man, Clodagh. First he shows a complete lack of enthusiasm for your tempting offer. Then he passes you straight into my hands. That was the most basic of tricks. He should have thought of it himself, knowing how alike the two of us are.”

  “Alike?” My whole body was stiff with disgust. “You are no more like him than a maggot-ridden corpse is like a healthy, living creature. You disgust me. Let me go!”

  “Oh, I don’t think so.” He drew me close, wrapping both arms around me and pressing my body against his. “Why don’t we make that son now? It’s peaceful here. You’ll be assured of the privacy that’s so important to you. And we’ve nothing else to do until morning.”

  “You have no right!” My mind edged closer to complete panic. There was no chance at all of breaking free, and I had used the only tool I had; used it up too soon, and for nothing. “The agreement was that I would let you do this tomorrow night if Cathal was incapable. He wasn’t incapable, my lord.” Gods, his hand was roaming all over me, making my flesh crawl. I would not let him do this.

  “I can play those games, too,” Mac Dara said. “Games of truth and lies. I’ll outplay you every time. Look me in the eye and tell me my son made love to you tonight.” He moved me away from him, both hands gripping me by the shoulders again.