“Not long,” said Conor, helping me to my feet. His arm around my shoulders was strong, hard, and comforting. “Tomorrow we will act, for like you I believe the time has come. Meanwhile, tell the others what has happened, and bid them to my quarters after dark. But keep your mouth shut, brother, and guard the message of your eyes. The lady Oonagh reads you better than you think.”
As do you, I thought. It had come to me gradually, and was still not clear. But he had come to help me, right behind Finbar, and something he had said confirmed it. I had believed the wordless meeting of minds was for Finbar and me alone. I wondered how long Conor had been able to read our thoughts and feelings, and why he had never let us know. It fitted, somehow, with what Father Brien had explained to us. I supposed, if people looked on you as some sort of spiritual guide, it might mean you had a few powers beyond the usual, perhaps some that nobody knew of.
“Conor—” I said as we went up the back steps, careful not to be noticed.
“It’s all right,” said Conor, opening the door for me to slip through. “Your thoughts are safe with me. I use this skill sparingly, and only when I must. Your pain spills over, sometimes, and so does Finbar’s. I am here to help.”
We reached the chamber shared by Conor and Cormack. Not long after us, Cormack came in, grim-faced, and Linn padded in after him, jumping up to settle next to me on the narrow bed. Padriac and Liam followed, the one with a cup of spiced wine which I was persuaded to drink, the other holding my hand, kissing my cheek, then drawing his brothers aside to talk rapidly and in low voices just out of earshot. After a while they all went away but Cormack, who stayed just inside the door with a knife in his hand. Finbar did not reappear. After spreading the news, he had gone about some business of his own, it seemed. I felt bruised and empty, and I lay there a while watching the light fade, and letting the dog lick my fingers. And after a time, the wine worked, and I dropped into a restless sleep.
Later, much later, they were all there, all but Diarmid. I was awake, and they had brought me barley bread with honey, but I could not eat and I fed it to the dog. Perhaps this was what the stories meant when they called somebody heartsick. Your heart and your stomach and your whole insides felt empty and hollow and aching.
“Think about the good times,” said Conor, but I couldn’t. Finbar, when he came in, placed a small, damp bundle beside me on the bed. Linn sniffed at it hopefully. I unrolled the strip of sacking. There lay my garden in embryo: slender cuttings of lavender, tansy, rue, and wormwood; a sliver of lilac wood that might be grafted; a round white stone from the shattered path; a solitary acorn. I wrapped them carefully up again. Maybe, just maybe I could start again. My brother stood with his back to me. I sensed the love in him, and the rage.
“Now,” said Conor, “I must ask you, Sorcha, if you will share a secret with your brothers. With all of us.”
“What secret?” I dreaded what he might be about to say. The lady Oonagh had all but stumbled on my most dangerous secret, one that would most surely divide brother from brother. For there were three of them who were warriors, committed to the cause, quick to pursue vengeance in blood; and there were three who would always seek first to arbitrate, to mend, to fight their battles with words, not with blows.
“He means the vision, or spirit, you saw in the forest, Sorcha,” said Finbar from his dark corner. “Conor believes this may help us. You can tell them.”
“She came to me,” I said. “The Lady of the Forest. Just like the stories. She—she spoke to me, words about what I must do. That it would be long and difficult, and that I must stay on the path. That was all.”
Not quite all. But I would not tell the rest.
“Would such a vision come to you again if you bid her?” asked Liam. The room was dark, with but a single candle lit, and my brothers seemed tall and grim in the shadows, three of them around the bed, Finbar in the far corner and Padriac taking his turn by the door.
“I cannot call her at will,” I said, remembering how badly I had wanted guidance in my desperate attempts to help Simon. “She comes only when she sees fit.”
“The lady Oonagh flexes her wings a little more each day,” said Conor. “Her power grows. I believe we must harness an even greater strength to combat her. You could try. At the right place, at the time of need, with us around you, you could try.”
“Will you do this for us, Sorcha?” Cormack had come late to the knowledge of what we were battling. Linn glanced up at the sound of his voice. Her wound was beginning to mend nicely.
“How?” I asked. “When?”
They all looked at Conor. Suddenly, he appeared much older than his sixteen years, as if the shadow of another self overhung him.
“Tomorrow,” he said. “By our mother’s tree, at dawn. I will arrange what is needed, and Sorcha will come with me. You, Liam, must make sure Diarmid is there. I don’t care how you do it, but bring him. We must all be present. No horses; come on foot. Sorcha, bring a bundle with necessities for a night or two, for you will not return here for a time. You too, Padriac. I won’t send Sorcha off alone. After we are finished, the two of you will go onto Father Brien’s and he will get you away to a place of safety. I believe her next step will be to kill, perhaps by turning one of us against the others. We are a sorry bunch if we cannot protect our sister from such evil.”
“What is it you are planning, Conor?” asked Cormack, looking closely at his twin.
“Don’t ask,” said Conor. “The less said the better. We must rouse no suspicion. Why do you imagine I bade Sorcha and Finbar be absent from our evening meal? The two of them are like open books, they speak the truth at the risk of their own lives, and when they keep silent their thoughts blaze like a beacon from their eyes. Admirable, but dangerous. It was bad enough with big brother here sitting tight-lipped and frowning under my lady’s polite questions.”
“She is angry, for all her sweet manners,” said Liam. “She stopped me this afternoon, before I could talk to Father. But not before he caught my drift; not before a small seed of doubt was sown. She must act soon; I read her intent in her eyes.”
“I, too,” said Conor gravely. “So, stay out of sight tonight. When the sun dawns over the lake, we’ll meet on the shore where our mother’s tree grows. I believe a power can be summoned before which even the lady Oonagh must retreat.”
Cormack left his dog with me for company and went off to sleep elsewhere, and it was Conor himself who watched by the door that night with a weapon at his side. I slept in bursts, often waking with a start, as in the long dark nights at Father Brien’s; and each time my brother was standing there with his gaze on some far distant vision, chanting softly in some tongue unknown to me. Maybe the half-light was deceiving me, and maybe it wasn’t, but I thought he stood with one foot lifted a little from the ground, and one arm bent behind his back; and that one of his eyes was open and the other closed. He was still as a stone. The single candle threw shadows on the wall, and for a moment I saw a white-winged bird gliding, and a great tree. I drifted back into sleep.
Next morning there was a heavy dew, and a clinging mist blanketed the lakeshore. We set out before dawn, and the hem of my gown was soon soaked. I clutched the small pack I had brought with me. I had not many treasures. We made our way down the forest paths in total silence, without light. Conor wore white, and I followed him like a small trusting shadow. Behind me Linn trod in my footsteps. Sensing the need for secrecy, she curbed the urge to chase off after every rustle in the grass, and kept her silence.
We were the first to reach our destination. And yet, others had been here before us, for on the sward beside the young birch tree, where we had gathered so often before, objects had been laid out precisely, awaiting our arrival. The first hint of predawn light showed white and yellow daisies strewn on the grass to the east of the tree where the land rose up to the forest. Amid these lay a knife, unsheathed, with a hilt of bone. On the western side where the bank sloped down to the lake, a shallow earthenware bowl re
sted by the tree, and like the cup of Isha it was full to the brim with clear water. South and north, a slender wand of birch wood, a mossy stone from the forest’s heart. Such were the makings of our ceremony. Who had laid the ritual objects here, I could not tell, nor would I ask Conor, for I felt the need to keep silence, the immense secrecy and importance of the moment. I wondered, though, who had carried them here, since my brother had been with me all that night.
Slowly they came. Cormack, a tall figure looming out of the mist. Close after him, Padriac, bearing a small pack like mine. Conor was standing close by the tree, waiting. One by one we took our places beside him without speaking. Now Finbar was suddenly there next to me, though I had neither seen nor heard him coming. His urgent whisper broke the hush.
“Sorcha. Look at this. Tell me what it is.” A small bottle, glass stoppered. An elegant little vessel, well suited for a lady’s perfume. I removed the stopper and sniffed, then shook out a tiny amount of black powder onto my hand. There was enough light now to confirm by eye the conclusion my nose had given me. This was one of the deadliest of poisons. I looked at Finbar, and he read his answer in my eyes.
“It’s monkshood,” I whispered back. “Where did you find it?”
“In her quarters, among her things. It proves the case where Eilis is concerned, at least.”
“Hush,” said Conor. “Wait for the others. It is not yet dawn.”
So we stood there, and I tried to empty my mind of the turbulent thoughts that raged there, and focus on our purpose. The forest was quite still; it was not yet time for the tree dwellers to start their songs to the dawn. It was a moment of truth, and we must make it ours. But we were not yet all assembled. And without the seven, our goal would not be achieved.
It seemed like forever, but was probably not very long, until there was a slight, rhythmic splashing, and a small boat put in to shore. Liam was rowing; Diarmid sat slumped in the prow, a gray cloak wrapped around him like a shawl. Cormack scrambled down the bank to help them ashore; it took him and Liam both to get Diarmid up to the sward. There was a heady reek of strong ale. Diarmid swayed between his brothers, half conscious, red-eyed. Liam did not look much better. It seemed he had matched his captive drink for drink in his effort to lull him into compliance.
“We are assembled, and it lacks but a few minutes to daybreak,” said Conor.
I felt again the presence of others, wiser, stronger, older ones, settling around him like a mantle. Instead of a dark-haired youth in a white robe, it was as if some ancient sage stood there before us, and the clearing seemed in some way to open up around him.
“Soon we will begin. But I warn you all. We stand together, we seven; she who tries to sever the bond between us does so at her peril. This is a great mystery, and may achieve our end. But in all things, we draw from the spirit world only such aid, and such strength, as its dwellers are willing to give us. Beyond that we must rely on our own wit and courage and resolve. Now, we begin our ceremony. And when it is ended, we part for a while. You, Sorcha, and you, Padriac, must go into hiding. Father Brien will shelter you and see you to a place of safety. When all is finished here, we will come for you. And whether what we do this morning brings help or no, the rest of us will act today for better or worse. We have the proof; our father must confront the truth and make his choice.”
We made a formal circle around the small tree as we had done many times before, standing close enough so that, if each had reached out an arm, he could have touched hands with the next. But there was no need to touch. This was our place of ritual, of oneness; the old oaks and beeches here had heard our childish rhymes, our tender secrets, had witnessed our communion with our mother’s spirit. Sometimes we had been solemn and serious, and sometimes we had joked and laughed. These trees held in their hearts the tale of our growing years, and now they were to witness a mystery greater than any in our experience.
The first glint of the rising sun lightened the rim of the sky. Conor faced the south, and held the birch wand up before him.
“Creatures of fire, darting salamanders,” said Conor, “children of the cleansing flame, steadfast of purpose, we salute you!” It seemed there was a stirring of the air, a momentary flickering of light; but the clearing was mist shrouded still.
Liam stood on the western side, and he looked out over the lake waters. Diarmid could not hold his place in the circle, but sagged against Cormack’s shoulder, blinking in the growing light. Cormack held his errant brother’s arm in a fierce grip. Liam raised the bowl to catch the pale dawn.
“Water spirits, changing and turning, deep-hearted, knowing ones, keepers of mysteries, we salute you,” he said, and lowered the bowl again.
Finbar faced north, where the tumbled boulders made a sort of giant’s pathway between the great trees. His long hands held the mossy stone; the wakening light showed its surface etched with tiny marks and symbols.
“Earth dwellers, holders of secrets, truth tellers, wise and worthy ones, we honor your presence,” he said. He turned inward and placed the stone carefully on the grass.
“Now. Sorcha,” said Conor quietly. I looked up at the mighty trees, stretching before me into the east. A lark burst into song high overhead, and Padriac, standing next to me, grinned with pure pleasure at the sound. The lightening sky showed dawn was upon us, though the forest masked the exact moment of the sun’s rising.
The knife was in my hands, and flowers about my feet. “Sylphs of the forest,” I whispered. “Spirits of oak, beech, and ash, dryads of rowan and hazel, hear us. You who have guided and guarded our every footstep, you whose canopy has sheltered our growth, we honor you. Lady of the Forest, Lady of the blue cloak, hear me now. Come to us in our time of need, come to us in our time of darkness. Come to us if you will.”
I lowered the knife, turning to complete the circle. Birdsong rippled around the clearing, filling the air with fluting sound. Around our feet, and over the lake surface, the mist began to dissipate with the rising sun. We stood silent, our heads bowed. The circle must not be broken. We waited as the sky turned from gray to blue, and the shine of the lake waters broke through the trailing tendrils of vapor.
And then she came. It was as if she had been with us all the time, a slight hooded figure standing alone just where the rim of the lake touched the sand; and behind her, a low dark boat drawn up next to the other. She had heard me, and she had come. She took a step across the shore toward us, and another. The curling mist clung about her skirts. But something was wrong. Linn gave a growl, deep in her throat. And then, a sudden, silent flash of warning from Finbar, from Conor.
Run, Sorcha, run!
The forest. Now. Run!
I saw the first predatory fingers of mist stretch out and writhe around my brothers’ bodies, holding them fast, and then reach out toward me where I stood on the far side of the tree, and then I saw her eyes, dark mulberry under winged brows, and the curl of auburn hair under the deep hood. She raised a white hand to slip back the covering from her head, and triumph was written bold on the lady Oonagh’s delicate features. I turned and fled, terror giving wings to my feet, over stone and boulder, scrabbling through mud and gravel, up, up the hill until the forest hid me in its still shadows. Ahead of me ran Linn, tail between her legs.
When I had gone as far as I could, I scrambled up into a great oak tree that cradled me in its massive limbs as I fought to get my breath back and still my pounding heart. Linn cowered in the undergrowth, giving tiny whimpers of unease. I had no need to see the lakeshore, for I could see through Finbar’s eyes, feeling with my brother, moment by cruel moment, the inevitable unfolding of the story.
Run, Sorcha, run! Our sister turns and flees across the clearing like a little white owl, and some power unknown shelters her into the safety of the trees. But we, we six, are held immobile as the clammy shreds of mist move like some live creature up our bodies with inexorable purpose. Our legs are rooted to the ground, our arms pinioned, our tongues silenced. Only our minds still st
ruggle, powerless, to free themselves.
She slips the hood back, and the morning light dances on her curling hair. She throws her head back in triumphant laughter.
“Oh, if you could see yourselves, little brothers! So comical, so droll!” Her voice darkens. “Did you think to outwit me with this paltry playacting, this pathetic attempt at sorcery? Shame on you! You would have better kept to your war toys, and left off dabbling in matters beyond your understanding. Well, you have your just desserts now, my boys; let us see how well you fare when I have dealt with you. For I am afraid you have underestimated me quite badly.”
She paces around the circle where we stand helpless. Before each in turn, she stops and speaks.
“Liam. Protector and leader, isn’t that the role your unfortunate mother intended for you? You have done a poor job of it today, firstborn. But never mind. Your father can get more sons as he got you. These lands will never be yours. Oh, Colum will mourn your loss, I doubt it not, but only for a while. I will comfort him. And he has already forgotten your warning.”
She moves onto Diarmid where he still leans on his brother’s shoulder, barely comprehending. “Well, my sweet lover, my tender one. Thought you could take your father’s place, did you? But you are nothing, nothing.” She emphasizes the insult by snapping her tapering fingers under his nose. Diarmid blinks. “Why would I dabble with an infant like you, when I can have a real man in my bed?”
She turns to Cormack. “Did you enjoy the twist of your knife in living flesh, pretty warrior? You might be interested to know what your sister gets up to, when you are away from home. For you do not all share the same enemy, I fear. You learned your father’s lesson well—smite first, ask questions later. Perhaps you should have tried that technique on me.”
I see Conor’s eyes, for he stands directly opposite me. They blaze with courage. He summons every scrap of will to resist her. But he is young yet, and it is not enough.
Daughter of the Forest Page 16
