The Flight of Swans

by Sarah McGuire

  I looked around the cave one last time. Goat-chewed blankets. A weir I’d been repairing weeks ago. I scooped up one of Carrick’s toys, settling it into the satchel with my brothers’ clothes.

  Then I walked into the light and down to the lake, hurrying down the boulders so that I reached the shore ahead of Finn and the Ri. I set the bag and satchel on a boulder and attempted to lift Owain from my shoulder, but the hen would have none of it.

  Finn joined me, and I held a warning finger up to him so he would leave the satchel and bag alone. He held his hands up, and I realized it was all I could hope for. So I stripped off my boots and twisted my skirts up above my knees. Then I waded into the shallows and slapped the water, watching my brothers at the far end of the lake.

  Several turned toward me. I slapped the water again.

  My brothers sprang to life, wings beating the air as they skimmed over the water toward me. Owain did not like to have my swan-brothers so near. She ruffled her feathers in alarm, her toes digging into my shoulder. A moment later, the swans surrounded me, their wings splashing so much water that I gave up any thought of staying dry and let my skirt fall into the shallows.

  One of the swans—Declan, I thought—swam close enough that I could stroke his neck. He chortled and clucked with pleasure, angling his neck first one way and then another so that I could scratch every inch. The others were close too, and I could see as they swirled around me that their white flight feathers had grown in. They could fly now, though I wasn’t certain I liked the thought. They’d follow me to the castle just before the full moon as they always had, and then nest there. Would they be safe at the lake so near the castle? What would the people think of black swans?

  What would the Ri think?

  I turned to face him, a hen on my shoulder, my wet skirts clinging to my knees while my swan-brothers swam graceful circles around me. He watched the swans intently, and I knew he was trying to make sense of the story Ionwyn had told him: brothers and swans and something evil.

  “Black swans!” Finn stomped up to the lake’s edge and eyed them with mistrust. “What natural beast has red eyes?”

  “They’ll follow you, won’t they?” asked the Ri.

  Yes.

  “Don’t worry for them, Lady Wyn,” he said. “We’ll make sure no harm comes to them when they venture closer to the castle.”

  I nodded again.

  “That’ll be a chore and a half,” said Finn. “But no doubt Ionwyn will have a clever idea to help. How many are there?”

  “Six,” said the Ri, never taking his eyes from my brothers. “There are six black swans.”

  Would he guess the truth? Or decide I truly was a girl from the forest, driven mad from witnessing a blood feud? I’d have sooner stood before the Ri naked than wait to see which of the two he decided.

  I splashed to the lake’s edge, wringing the water from my skirt. I was almost grateful I was mute—it saved me from having to explain all that the Ri and Finn had seen.

  But the Ri continued to watch my swan-brothers.

  Six brothers.

  Six swans.

  Five nettle tunics, and nettles for one more.

  “When I first saw you”—he turned to me—“I thought you were mad. And then, I thought you were frightened. And now I think you are guarding something. Carrick, of course. But there’s more, something else you try to keep safe.” He shrugged. “Perhaps it is yourself, but I don’t think so.”

  I waited for him to ask a question I couldn’t answer. I waited for an accusation of witchcraft.

  Instead the Ri watched me as if he could see past skin and bone. It was like when I’d begged him to take Carrick and me with him, praying he would see me and not the crazy girl who’d burst from the woods and attacked him.

  Once more, the Ri offered me shelter.

  “Hear me, Lady Wyn, without kin in this world: I will protect you as you have protected me. And even if you hadn’t begged my hospitality so many months ago, I would protect you still. My honor on it. My life on it.”

  Chapter 47

  Sixty-third full moon

  I stood knee deep at the lake only a league from the castle, skirts tucked up into my waist, and swished the handful of nettles through the water. The motion washed away the rotting stem, leaving tangles of pale fiber in my hands.

  Then I heard the three-note trumpet of my swan-brothers and saw the sweep of black wings above the treetops. I’d been waiting for them, knowing that the coming full moon would draw them soon.

  I splashed ashore and tossed the sodden fibers into the basket with the rest that I’d collected. Then I waded back to greet my brothers, sweeping my hands through the water to remove the stench of retting nettles. My swan-brothers wouldn’t mind the stench, but I hated to touch them with dirty hands.

  They quickly surrounded me. One of them—probably Cadan—nipped at the others as if jealous of my attention. They were less swan-like today, especially Aiden. I knew that he, more than my other brothers, worked to reclaim his mind the earliest. On the days just before the full moon, the enchantment wore thin at the edges, and Aiden’s strong heart and determined mind pressed against those boundaries.

  Perhaps that was why Cadan-swan became contentious—more like his human self—the closer we came to the full moon.

  I reached out to Aiden, stroking the short, silky feathers along his cheek, hoping that some part of him would know Carrick and I were safe.

  He nibbled the inside of my wrist.

  I thought of how Carrick was growing chubby and speaking like any of the other children. How, now that I didn’t have to scavenge for food, I had so much more time to harvest and ret nettles for the final tunic. My earlier foolishness aside, it was good—right, even—that we be here in Fianna.

  I just didn’t know how to explain that to my brothers.

  * * *

  That afternoon, I signed to Ionwyn that I would leave that evening—alone. I’d spent days wondering how to explain I’d be gone all night.

  And then I realized I should simply draw the truth.

  In the hearth soot of the great room, I drew that I’d visit with my six brothers that evening—under the full moon.

  I could see her try to make sense of what I’d drawn, then: “You keep vigil for your brothers during the full moon?”

  I’d known she would supply a better answer than I could ever create.

  Yes.

  * * *

  The lake was too far for Carrick to walk, and I couldn’t carry him with my ribs still healing, so I’d planned to get to the lake early and draw that Carrick was well.

  I quickly found the part of the lake where the swans waited and laid out my brothers’ clothes. Perhaps if they found their old clothing, they’d know all was well. I didn’t dare light a fire, but I set my muted lantern down on the bank and began to sketch all that had happened since they’d seen me last.

  But I wouldn’t tell them about the trial or caning. I couldn’t explain it, or how it had earned me respect among the people I thought were barbarians.

  At dusk, I heard the wind roar toward us. My swan-brothers were already at the lake’s edge, wings spread as if to snatch their change from the air.

  When the wind stopped, I didn’t hear my brothers’ voices.

  I tapped my cudgel against a nearby tree three times and lifted a shutter on the lantern so my brothers could see my face.

  “Ryn?” called Cadan, softly. “Please let it be you!”

  I tapped again.

  “Thank heaven!” That was Aiden in a choked voice. “And Carrick? Where’s Carrick?”

  After a mad scramble to dress themselves, my brothers gathered around, hands reaching out as if they needed to be certain of me, only—

  Aiden stared at my empty arms. “Where’s Carrick?”

  I signed safe, but he was looking past me into the dark.

  “Where’s Carrick, Ryn?” A panicked note seeped into his voice. “Where’s my son?”

  I
took Aiden’s face in my hands and made him look at me. Then I held my arms as if rocking a baby and signed safe.

  “Then why isn’t he here?”

  But I knew Aiden was seeing Tanwen’s death all over again. I took his face again, prayed he’d be able to see the truth in my eyes. Believe me. He’s safe.

  After a moment, he stilled. “What’s happened? Tell me where he is, and where we are. I have to know, Ryn.”

  I took his arm and tugged him to sit beside the history I’d drawn, the lantern’s light streaming over the pictures.

  Me sick in the cave . . . begging hospitality for the sick Carrick and myself . . . Carrick among the Fianna.

  “I knew you were too close to the barbarians!” said Aiden. “How is Carrick now? Why isn’t he here?”

  I nodded, signed that he was sleeping, then puffed my cheeks out a bit and patted them.

  Aiden shook his head, confused. I put my hands on my belly, then pulled them out slowly, as if I was getting fatter.

  “I know you’re not telling us you’re with child, Ryn,” said Cadan in a flat, calm voice. Too calm. “Please tell me you’re not expecting a child.”

  I hit his shoulder. Hard.

  “Oww!”

  “Shhh!” hissed Mael.

  I put my hands back over my cheeks, rounding them so my cheeks looked fatter.

  “He’s gained weight?” suggested Owain.

  I gestured at him with both hands: Yes! I picked up a nearby twig and waved it around.

  “He still has a stick?” asked Aiden. “He’s healthy, then?”

  I nodded.

  “And Ryn is not pregnant,” reiterated Cadan.

  I scowled at him.

  “The tunics?” asked Gavyn. “They were there in the cave last full moon. How did you get them? And how far are you from the cave?”

  I’d known they would be too unsettled to believe me, so I’d brought one of the tunics with me. I pulled it from the satchel and handed it to Gavyn.

  “They’re all safe?” asked Mael.

  I rolled my eyes—a perfect imitation of Cadan. I signed Carrick, then pointed to myself and the tunic and signed safe once more. We are all safe!

  “But how?” pressed Mael. “How can you be sure you are safe?”

  I made a motion of a crown, even though the Ri did not wear one.

  “The king keeps you safe?” asked Declan. “Can you trust that? You’re a maid with a child among barbarians!”

  The word barbarians seemed razor-sharp in his mouth. I felt the edge of it. They had no idea how wrong it was.

  I pointed again to the picture of me begging hospitality.

  Mael just shook his head.

  “The kings of Eyre value their honor above all else,” said Gavyn. For the first time, I was grateful for one of his lessons. “When they offer hospitality, the honor of their house is at stake. Ryn and Carrick’s welfare is tied to the barbarian king’s honor. She’s safe.”

  He glanced up at me. “But I still don’t like it: you, just . . . here.”

  Here? What did they think I did all the other nights of the month? I wanted to scold, then I remembered how I felt when I was away from Carrick. I knew I couldn’t completely protect him, but I felt that I could if I was with him.

  My brothers must feel the same about me.

  I signed safe once more.

  “So Carrick is safe”—I interrupted Mael with a gesture at a full belly—“and fat, and the tunics are safe.”

  “And our Ryn is not pregnant!” finished Cadan.

  Before I could brace myself, he caught me up in a great hug, squeezing the sore places in my ribs.

  I couldn’t help it—I yanked myself away.

  Every one of them leaped to their feet.

  “What is it, Ryn?”

  “What happened?”

  “Let me see.”

  Before I could wriggle free, Declan had pulled the back of my dress back an inch, revealing the top of the still-healing wounds from the caning.

  Cadan took one look, then gestured to the castle on the hill. “We take Ryn and Carrick away tonight, and when we are men again, we burn it to the ground!”

  “This is your idea of safe?” Aiden thundered.

  I yanked myself away from them again, straightening my dress. Yes, safe!

  Declan, sweet Declan who always tried to make peace, would have none of it. “How could you let yourself stay in this place if this”—he waved a hand at my back—“is their king’s idea of hospitality?”

  And there I was again, in the space between heartbeats, with my life running in two different courses around this conversation. These people were not barbarians, and the Ri . . . ?

  I saw him again as he knelt before me at the trial, telling me he could not protect me if I challenged Connach, but letting me do it anyway, even though it might diminish his honor. I remembered—no, I felt—the strength of his gaze all over again, his confidence that I could do it, and how it had bolstered my own determination.

  A woman would be a fool not to love him—or to lie to herself and say that she didn’t. And I knew, in that still, quiet space, that love for him had been growing all along. I couldn’t deny it any more than I could hold back the sun once it started to rise.

  What gosling would want to hold back such light and color?

  “Ryn!” said Mael. “Don’t you understand us?”

  And then I was among my brothers again, and I no longer felt like a child.

  What had the Ri said? It was one of the finest pieces of fighting I’ve ever seen. The marks on my back weren’t punishment. They were battle scars, and I wouldn’t apologize for them. When I had words, I’d explain everything.

  Until then, I would not cower like a child.

  I stood in the center of them, felt their fear and fury, but it couldn’t reach inside me. I stood straight and tall and waited till my brothers grew silent. Then I pointed to myself with both hands and jabbed my fingers at the ground I stood on, as if the motion could plant me there.

  I WILL stay here!

  Before they could speak, I signed it again: We are safe. Safe!

  Aiden looked shocked. I saw his chest rise as he pulled in a great breath. And then a quick shake of his head. “I can’t—”

  “No.”

  I spun to face Owain. But he wasn’t talking to me. “I believe her, Aiden.”

  “This isn’t a matter of believing her!”

  “Isn’t it?” Owain squared his shoulders. “She was right that Father was enchanted. And she was right about the nettles. But we didn’t believe her until Tanwen told us all that had happened.”

  “Because she’s—”

  “The youngest? Our sister?” pressed Owain. “She was all those things. And she was still right. So when she says that she and Carrick are safe, I believe her.”

  I’d have been less surprised if Cadan had started reciting Declan’s poetry. I could tell my brothers were just as shocked. But Owain smiled at me and shrugged, a gesture that was both apology for the past years and embrace all in one.

  “But there’s Carrick.”

  “That’s why I believe her,” said Owain. “She’d never endanger him.”

  After a moment, Aiden nodded. Mael laughed under his breath as if he’d seen a miracle and couldn’t quite believe it yet.

  I looked at Owain.

  Mael had seen a miracle.

  Aiden cleared his throat. “It’s awful, Ryn, to step into a world you can’t control—not knowing what will be waiting for you—and stay there only a few hours. You have to leave just as you’re making your place in it all over again.”

  It was his own apology. When he finally met my eyes, I smiled at him.

  “This is all I ask: no matter how safe you think you are, don’t tell them about us,” he said. “Don’t let them find out. I’d rather you leave our clothes here at night—so we can know you’re safe—and stay at the castle than come here and draw attention to us.”

  After a mo
ment’s hesitation, I nodded. My attempts to explain the enchantment hadn’t worked anyway.

  “Keep the both of you safe. And this barbarian king, you are more than just his honor. I pray he knows that.”

  Heaven help me, I prayed the same.

  Chapter 48

  “You know that birds are creatures between the worlds of earth and air, and that in the days before remembering, they served as emissaries between the Otherworld and this one. You have heard of the adar rhiannon, the birds of the Otherworld’s Great Lady. At her command, they sang the dead to life and enchanted the hearts of her guests with songs that satisfied every desire . . .”

  For one moment, I was back in Lacharra, looking at Mother’s tapestry of the Lady, hung in my room.

  But it was Ionwyn’s voice that pushed the darkness away. She looked around the great hall, waited until she had gathered up the gaze of every soul in it. Then she raised her hands as if giving a gift.

  “Hear now the story of the Children of Lir.”

  * * *

  Finn had said Ionwyn would protect the swans, but I’d not known she’d sing a place for them in the heart of every person who heard her tale.

  And what a tale it was—so close to the truth I wondered if Ionwyn knew our story after all. Lir’s three children were turned to swans—white swans in this tale—by a jealous stepmother, and for hundreds of years after that, their voices and songs touched the hearts of those who heard them.

  Even the chiefs had wept at the tragedy, and as I looked around the hall, I knew my swan-brothers were safe. There had been talk about the black swans before that, but Ionwyn’s story—and Finn’s outright threats afterward—guaranteed their protection.

  * * *

  That night, as the hall emptied, I set aside the knitting I’d brought with me. Then I saw the hearth: soot-lined edges and the smooth hearthstones.

  Ionwyn’s story of Lir’s children burned inside me. This was its own sort of pregnancy, I thought, to have something inside you that should live out in the world.

  I dipped a finger in the soot and began to draw.

  It was different from the drawings of my childhood. No ink. No parchment. But my fingers shaped the swan just the same: black lines on the flagstone, and it was a relief like laughter or tears to see it there.