Seer of Sevenwaters

by Juliet Marillier

  “Which weighs heavier in the voyage we plan, salvation or sacrifice?”

  With my eyes still shut, I turned the bag upside down, spilling the rune rods out onto the ritual cloth. Svala sucked in her breath.

  I opened my eyes. It was wrong to try to guess in advance what a divination would show, but part of me had expected the three significant runes to be exactly the same as in my first divination, when I sought to help Felix: Os, Ger, and Nyd. But here, atop the others, lay Rad, Ken, Eolh. All different. All unexpected.

  I sat there awhile, letting the symbols work within me, blending and changing. I observed which signs lay directly below those three. There were several possibilities here. I owed it to Johnny to select what I believed most apt as a response to the question. It would be all too easy to choose an interpretation that would win me a place on the boat. But that was not the druid way. A selfish choice would anger the gods, even if it was the will of those selfsame gods that I travel to the serpent isle. The runes did not lie. But a seer could come close to making them lie, if she allowed her own will to influence her.

  To avoid a throbbing head and a state of confusion, I came out of the trance gradually, with several changes of breathing. As I did so I became once more aware of my surroundings; of the small circle of onlookers, their faces illuminated by the warm light of the lamp; of the moon rising in the night sky; of Felix’s eyes fixed on me, the knowledge on his face telling me that he, too, had read a message in the signs. Of Clodagh sitting on the very edge of the bench, biting her nails. Svala’s utter stillness drew the eye. She sat cross-legged now, back straight, head high, eyes tranquil as she watched me.

  “Water, Sibeal?” Muirrin came over, offering a cup.

  “Thank you.” I drank, as thirsty as if I had not had a drop all day. “I will tell you what I see in this. There are two signs predominant: Rad, the journey, and Ken, the torch. Taken simply, this could mean that there will be light on the quest, or that the travelers will find enlightenment. There will be learning in it. I think we would have known that without a divination. Rad and Ken are a pair; there’s a rightness in their coming up together. The third, less prominent sign is Eolh: a rune of defense.” I picked up the rod with its three-pronged hand or claw, and Svala made a little sound. She recognized it, perhaps, as Knut’s choice for self-protection. “Eolh is a shield. It guards against all kinds of attack, not only the physical. If I could give those men on the island one rune to keep them safe, it would be this one. When I pray for their survival, I will thank the gods for sending this sign.”

  I paused. That much was simple. “Johnny,” I said, “it would be easy for me to give you the interpretation that suits me best. You know I believe the mission cannot succeed unless I am present. That conviction was based on another reading entirely. In these three runes, the need for both myself and Felix to travel to the island is less clear. Rad tells me the gods believe in our venture. Ken tells me those who undertake it may go down a dark path indeed, one in which the light of knowledge may be all that can show them the way. A shadowy path; a path that may bring the travelers close to death. The presence of Eolh could be taken to show that they will nonetheless come through safely, shielded by the love of the gods and by their own courage. I see both sacrifice and salvation in these runes. But I do not see myself.” I made myself say it. I had been trained in ways of truth.

  “But Sibeal,” said Felix, his voice warm and sure, “of course you are there. Ken, the torch.” He looked over at Johnny, who stood with arms folded, his tattooed face somber. “I, too, understand the need for honesty where this interpretation is concerned. I will tell you that I learned the runes from my mother’s brother, a wise man skilled in certain arts. I do not pretend to Sibeal’s expertise, but I see what she cannot: the meaning that pertains to herself. Rad, the journey: it is the gods’ will that we go to the serpent isle. Eolh, the shield against harm. Perhaps the gods will protect us. Perhaps the shield is the skill and courage of those who are prepared to undertake the mission. And Ken: light in the darkness; clarity amidst confusion. The torch that illuminates our way. That is Sibeal.”

  For a man who not so long ago had told me he did not want me to go, he had done an eloquent job of supporting my case. For a while, everyone was silent. Then Johnny said, “In times of old a chieftain would take his druid with him everywhere, even onto the field of war. But one does tend to imagine those druids as bearded ancients.”

  “Conor was present at the battle with Northwoods,” put in Gull. “I doubt very much that he’d think of himself as a bearded ancient, though he does have the look of a venerable sage. And Fainne was also on that field of war.”

  “True,” said Johnny. The memory had shadowed his eyes. “At the time our cousin was no older than Sibeal is now. It was Fainne’s presence that tipped the balance in our favor, though she achieved it at great cost.” He sighed. “Sibeal, I am impressed by your honesty. And by yours, Felix, since I suspect your personal inclination is for Sibeal to stay behind.”

  Felix inclined his head in agreement. “The runes do not lie,” he said.

  “Sibeal,” said Johnny, “you must understand that your presence on the venture would probably have a twofold effect. On the one hand, there is your expertise in the druidic arts, backed up by your conviction that the gods intend you to be there. On such a mission, spiritual guidance may play an important part. My crew will understand that. Against that understanding we must weigh your vulnerability, and the impact that might have on the men’s capacity to carry out what must be done. Every man on that ship will see it as his duty to protect you. Without that distraction a man might be better able to sail, to make decisions, to fight if need be. Cathal, what is your opinion?”

  A hand fastened on my shoulder, making my heart jump. Svala had come up in silence. She made a little sound of inquiry.

  “Johnny,” I said, “I must try to explain to her what we’ve been discussing. Can you wait while I try to reach her?”

  I rose to my feet and took Svala’s hands in mine. I pictured the boat setting out from Inis Eala, its crew including Gareth and Felix and a number of other men whose faces I did not imagine in detail. I added Svala herself, standing in the bow with her hair blowing in the wind as the men raised the sail and set a course due northward. I showed a party of folk on the jetty waving goodbye: Johnny, Gull, Biddy, Clodagh and myself.

  A sound burst out of Svala, a high, chittering noise of protest. Further down the garden, Niall and Kalev turned their heads in surprise. Closer at hand, eyes widened. Even Johnny looked taken aback.

  Svala let me go and took a step toward Johnny, her fear set aside for now. She pointed to me, to herself, to Felix, then performed the same gesture as she had in the cave: quite clearly, rowing a boat. Her arm swung around to indicate due north.

  Nobody said a word. As far as I knew, this was the first time Svala had revealed the extent of her understanding in the company of anyone but me and my sisters. When she was done, she stepped back and put her arm around my shoulders, pointing again. Her. Me. The two of us. Two women.

  “There is one thing you men didn’t think of,” said Biddy. “If Sibeal doesn’t go, Svala will be the only woman on board. That doesn’t seem quite proper.”

  “But then,” put in Muirrin, “if Svala really is going to stay on that island, Sibeal would be the only woman on the way back.”

  “We are perhaps getting ahead of ourselves,” Johnny said. “It’s clear Svala believes Sibeal should go, though she cannot tell us why. As for this question about propriety, Gareth and I would not select any man for the crew unless he was completely trustworthy.” In the pause that followed, I thought of Knut, who would be on the boat, and who was one of the least trustworthy men I had ever met. “Believe me, I have given the whole matter considerable thought. Sibeal’s personal safety has loomed large in my mind, along with what her father would deem appropriate. The perils of the voyage itself were foremost in my mind; I didn’t imagine there could
be any threat from our own men, and I still don’t.”

  “I wonder if you have thought it right through,” Biddy said quietly. “There’s consequences here to freeze the marrow in your bones. It takes a lot of courage to go out and battle monsters. But it takes even more to wait. To see the ones you love put themselves in the path of the storm.”

  Gull glanced at her and cleared his throat. “Seems as good a time as any to speak up. You’ll be needing a healer on this trip. Those fellows who were left out there are going to need attention. Not to speak of someone to deal with possible mishaps on the way.” He glanced at Muirrin, then at Evan. Biddy was white. Her lips were pressed tightly together. “Seems that healer should be me, bearded ancient as I am. And while I can’t claim to be a woman, I have been acting as Sibeal’s chaperone, more or less, since she came to Inis Eala. In place of a father, you might say. My presence on the voyage should answer those concerns about what’s proper.” After a few moments of stunned silence, he added, “Sibeal can be my hands. Between us, we’ll do a good job.”

  I was shocked and elated both at once. I wanted to protest; Biddy’s words and the look on her face told me this would alter our friendship forever. Johnny was expert at masking his feelings, but right now shock was written all over his face. Gull was his father’s oldest friend, revered and loved by all on Inis Eala. He was like a father to everyone on the island. It would be simple enough for Johnny to point out that Gull, with his maimed hands, could not combine the duties of healer with those of crewman as Evan might. But I knew Johnny would not say this.

  “Father—” began Evan now, getting up from his position on the steps.

  “Hush,” Gull said. “You’re my son. Your wife’s expecting a child. Nothing more need be said on the matter.”

  “A pox on this!” The voice was Cathal’s, wretched, furious. “With every step the ripples widen to take in another! It’s not Felix who’s the ill luck man here, it’s me.”

  Clodagh got to her feet, her anger almost palpable, and walked off down the garden without a word, hugging her shawl tightly around her. Cathal muttered something under his breath and strode off after her. Muirrin got up as if to follow, then sat down again.

  “Biddy,” Johnny said, “I do understand what this means, both for those who go and for those they leave behind. Every time I send men into battle it is the same. You’ve cause to understand better than most, I know. But we’ve all had losses.”

  I looked around the circle of faces, each one of them beset by doubt. Meeting Johnny’s eye, I dug deep for my most confident tone and the look to match it. “We must think of this as the heroic rescue mission that captured your men’s imagination,” I said, “and not as a wild and perilous venture in which lives may be lost. You have an expert captain,” I nodded toward Gareth, “and a fine crew. In Gull, you have a steady beating heart for your mission. In Svala you have one who knows the way. Her fierce desire to return home will carry Liadan across those stormy waters. In Felix you have the fair wind that fills the sails, a fresh breeze of courage and determination. As for me,” I thought fast, not being prepared to call myself a torch to light the way, “my presence acknowledges the will of the gods. I am attuned to their voices, and while I travel with Liadan, she goes under their protection. We cannot afford to dwell on possible disasters, on personal grief, on guilt and uncertainty. Now that the decision is made to do this, we must set our course forward.”

  A smile spread slowly across Johnny’s features. I saw its echo on Gareth’s face, and on Gull’s.

  “Well spoken, Sibeal,” my cousin said. “You speak with the voice of hope. And that, I believe, is essential on a voyage into the unknown.”

  I struggled to maintain the tone and demeanor of a druid. “You’re saying I can go,” I managed.

  “I am. As leader here I take full responsibility for the venture and the safety of those who are part of it. May the gods look kindly on all of us. I cannot imagine a better team with whom to share this burden, and I only regret that I may not travel with you and stand beside you in that far place.” He glanced at Gareth. “Tomorrow we’ll let the community know who’s going. From that point on, Gareth’s in charge. And, Sibeal, you might ask the gods to set a favorable wind in Liadan’s sails. The sooner she gets back here, the sooner she can set sail again.”

  Now that he had said it, I was seized by terror. This was real: the ship, the perilous voyage, the island at the end of the world, the monster . . . I’d had a choice, and instead of a quiet summer’s stay with my sisters and a safe ride back to Sevenwaters, I had chosen this. “I must tell Svala,” I said and, turning toward her, I took her hands again. This time the picture in my mind showed the two of us on Liadan’s prow. Svala stood as before, a living figurehead, proud and lovely. Beside her, I was somewhat green in the face but doing my best to match her bold look. Among the others on the boat, I included Gareth, Felix, Knut and the dark-skinned, smiling figure of Gull. On the jetty, watching us, I pictured Johnny, Biddy, Muirrin, Evan and Clodagh. Cathal, I did not put anywhere. The ship in the image sailed off to the north under the sky of a rosy dawn, her sail filled by a fair wind.

  Svala dropped my hands and threw her arms around me. When she let go, I saw that her mouth was stretched in a wide smile, and that her eyes were streaming with tears. At last, at last! She moved to kneel before Johnny and, taking his hand, touched her brow to his fingers in a gesture of acknowledgment. Before he could say anything she was on her feet again and bolting away through the garden.

  “Gods have mercy on me if I’ve made the wrong decision,” Johnny said. “Now to rest, all of you. Remember Sibeal’s words of hope, and make sure your doubts, if you have them, are not aired in public. We’ve a strong team, and we’ll perform this mission as we always do, with courage and professionalism. I’ll bid you good night now. Gull, I wish my father had been here to see you volunteer.”

  “I wonder if he’d have said yes or no.”

  “No, if he had any sense,” Biddy commented, though she had her arm linked with her husband’s. If she was angry, I thought it was not with Gull himself, but with the complex set of family loyalties that had obliged him to offer his services. “But more likely he’d be getting on the boat with you. Every old warrior believes he’s got one more adventure in him.”

  CHAPTER 11

  ~Felix~

  Liadan returns to the island within ten days of Johnny’s decision. I am at the place of the boat burial, high on the hill, when I spot her approaching the bay with a steady westerly filling her square sail. My heart lurches. We can go, I tell my brother. The ship is here.

  I wonder if Paul, so brave and strong, ever felt as I do now: torn between utter terror at the magnitude of the task and a powerful will to achieve it. Perhaps my brother never knew doubt. I will be brave, I say to him. I will be as brave as you were.

  I walk back toward the settlement. Others have seen the ship now, and folk are streaming down to the bay to greet the travelers. People are laughing, smiling, gesturing, chattering. Men come from the practice area to join the throng of women and children. From the cliff path above the bay I see Deiz poised on the very edge of the jetty, a quivering ball of anticipation. Her small form vibrates with the desire to leap, to swim, to fly, to close the gap in whatever way she can.

  It would not be right for me to go down there, so I find a place at the top of the path, on the stones. Not long after, while Liadan is still some way from shore, I feel a presence behind me. “Sibeal,” I say, smiling.

  “How did you know it was me?” She comes to sit beside me.

  “I knew.”

  We sit watching as the boat comes closer. Liadan is smaller than Freyja. I shiver, closing my hands over the blisters long healed. The rocks, the splintering timbers, the wave . . . I will be brave, says a voice inside me. “She looks a sturdy craft,” I comment, and this much is true. Liadan seems made for trading, not war. They’re lowering the sail, and using oars to bring her in: two pairs forward, t
wo aft, the rowers standing. Amidships is the deep open hold. It looks big enough to accommodate a considerable cargo, though it is near-empty; this was no merchant voyage. Men crowd the walkways to either side, their eyes fixed on home.

  Sibeal has heard the reservation in my voice. “If Johnny and Gareth believe the job can be done with this vessel,” she says, “then it can be done. After all, she’s just been all the way down to the south and back.”

  Neither of us adds that such a voyage can be completed without any need to sail beyond sight of land; at any point her crew might have headed for a safe bay to ride out storm or trouble.

  “Sometimes I wish I were the kind of man who does not think too much, but simply believes,” I say. “A man of blind faith. It would make life much easier. Yet it was seeing that kind of faith in action that lost me my own belief, back in Breizh.”

  “Perhaps you have more faith than you realize,” says Sibeal, lifting a graceful hand to tuck her dark hair behind her ears. The breeze is rising. “You presented a strong case for me, and for yourself, based at least partly on my runic divinations. I’m sure you mentioned the gods more than once.”

  When I do not reply, she looks at me and smiles. The honesty in her eyes is a shining light. How can a man see that and not believe? It is hard to put this into words for her.