Sevenwaters [06] Flame of Sevenwaters

by Juliet Marillier

  “I need to speak to you. Come closer, my dear.”

  By the time I had crossed the enclosure and come out to stand beside her, I was shaking. Something had happened, something terrible. “Tell me,” I said. “What is it? Finbar—is he safe?”

  “Your brother is well and eating his breakfast as we speak. Maeve, you’d best sit down.” Caisin gestured toward a bench with her long, ring-decked fingers. I sank down onto it, my stomach in knots. “I’m afraid I have ill tidings for you.”

  “What tidings?” My mind filled with one unspeakable possibility after another. Mother. Father. Rhian. Deirdre or her children.

  “You asked if I could find out about your dogs,” she said, and the compassion in her lovely eyes froze my heart. “I know you were very attached to them.”

  Were. “What? What’s happened to them?”

  She hesitated. “It is…it is distressing news, Maeve. I hardly know how to tell you.”

  “Just say it!”

  “A messenger came early this morning. The folk Finbar saw were indeed Mac Dara’s henchmen. The Lord of the Oak is fond of games, and he plays them with cruel inventiveness. I do not understand his motive in this, but he has put both your friends to death.”

  That wasn’t true. It couldn’t be. They were lost, perhaps hurt. Locked up. Prisoners. But not this. Bear couldn’t be dead; he couldn’t be. “No,” I heard myself say, and it felt as if I were miles away, looking down on a scene that was not real. “No, it’s not true. I don’t believe you.”

  “I’m afraid there is no doubt about it, Maeve. My messenger saw what happened with his own eyes.”

  “He saw it? Then why didn’t he try to stop them? Why didn’t he—” I put my head in my hands. Caisin’s arm came around me, but it provided no comfort at all. Bear. Badger. Gone. Gone forever. My fault. My doing. I had let them be taken. They had been alone and frightened, and I had not come. It was Bounder all over again.

  “Weep all you want,” Caisin said. “You loved them. Beyond the usual affection between a woman and her pet, I can see.”

  I let her hold me. I sobbed like a child; there was no stopping the tears. After a while I made myself draw a long breath and straighten, extracting myself from Caisin’s embrace. I wiped my eyes on my sleeve. Enough of weakness. I must ask the question. “You say your messenger was there when it happened. Tell me how it was done. How did Bear and Badger die?”

  “It is best if I do not tell you that,” Caisin said. “Believe me, you would wish I had not.”

  “How did they die?” I had not thought I could speak in such a voice: cold, level, dangerous. An iron-strong darkness was filling me up, leaving no space for soft thoughts.

  “By fire. Afterward, Mac Dara cut out their hearts and ate them for supper.”

  In that moment, I knew what it was to want to kill. I sat staring ahead of me, seeing only the vile image in my mind.

  “Maeve—”

  “Go away. Leave me alone.”

  Caisin retreated, her skirts whispering around her. Time passed. Swift moved across his enclosure one way, the other way. The birds sang; a breeze stirred the leafy branches high above me. In my mind, over and over, a tall man dressed in black raised a dripping knife to his lips, smiling. In my ears, over and over, sounded the dying screams of my boys. In my heart, a dark desire for vengeance took root.

  “Maeve.”

  I started like a hare as the little voice behind me broke my trance. My back ached. My neck hurt. My head throbbed. I had sat unmoving since Caisin left me. And now here was Finbar, his eyes reddened and swollen, his manner courteous as always. As I turned to face him, he put his arms around me.

  He knew, then. They had told him. I hoped they had spared him the details. Somewhere inside me there were good memories: Bear’s rough tongue licking my cheek. His bright eyes, his alert pose, his sweetness and loyalty. His courage. His strength. The warmth of him against me at night. But those fine things were beyond my reach. All I could see was that man smiling, smiling as he lifted the gobbet of flesh to his lips.

  “Finbar,” I said, “I have something to ask you.”

  The Grand Conclave was, it seemed, sufficiently grand to require a change of clothing for everyone, human folk included. I had been unable to eat, which was perhaps just as well since what remained of Luachan’s supplies was barely sufficient to feed him and Finbar. I allowed myself to be escorted back to the bathing chamber, where the silent maidservant washed and dried me, then dressed me in clothing of a kind I had never worn in my life before: a gown of clinging, silvery cloth, and over it a tunic of midnight blue, its edges trimmed with what looked like swansdown. She braided my hair and pinned it up, adding a short, gauzy veil that did nothing at all to conceal my facial scars. The whole thing was ridiculous. I told Caisin so when she came in to admire me.

  “The moment I step out in this, I’ll draw attention,” I said. “How could Mac Dara not realize who I am? And if Finbar is with me, he’ll recognize both of us. Doesn’t setting up the terms of the geis require an element of surprise?”

  Caisin looked, if anything, amused. She, too, had changed her clothes. She was clad in a gown of sky blue, its skirt decorated with silvery streamers that were perhaps intended to give the effect of clouds. Whatever it was made of, it was no ordinary fabric, for the garment had a life of its own, shifting and changing even when the wearer did not move. Looking at it, I found it hard to keep track of my thoughts, and I wondered if there was magic woven into the cloth.

  “You seem remarkably calm, Maeve,” Caisin observed.

  Calm. Yes, I was calm on the surface. Once she had told me about Bear and Badger, once she had broken the hideous news, something odd had come over me. It had changed me into a new person, cold and intent. My fury was no less strong for being well controlled. I still feared for Finbar; that had not altered. But he had chosen this, as I had known he would. We have to do it, Maeve, he had said. This is the way it’s meant to be. And this time I had believed him.

  “I need your assurance that my brother will be safe,” I said now. “You made Luachan give up his weapons. How can he guard Finbar without them?”

  “A man does not enter the Grand Conclave bearing cold iron,” Caisin said. “But the druid will be armed. Your brother will be well protected. I give you my solemn word. As for appearances, your small party of three will remain concealed until it is time. You will be able to watch the challenges, but you must keep quiet. When I give the sign you will come forward and the geis will be fulfilled.”

  “Swift must be with us. I’m the only one who can keep him calm until it’s time.”

  “Maeve, I am a person of considerable power and influence, with many folk at my disposal. I possess some abilities that would astonish you, should I choose to demonstrate them. Believe me, there is no need for you to be concerned. All will be well.”

  “I agreed to this with some reluctance, my lady. In view of the risk, it is not unreasonable that I seek some assurances.”

  “Of course not, my dear. Now come, let us find that brother of yours and the companion who guards him so faithfully. We must be on our way.”

  “My lady?”

  She had been heading out the door but turned back at this, arching her brows in question.

  “When you spoke of the conclave last night you mentioned a series of challenges. Who will stand up against Mac Dara? If the challenge succeeds, who will take his place?”

  Caisin smiled. “There are many who would like that privilege, but only one, I think, with the necessary qualities. Come, Maeve, we should proceed if we are not to draw attention to ourselves by arriving late.”

  I had myriad questions, but clearly they were not going to be answered. And perhaps that did not matter now, since I was committed to doing this anyway. Whoever the challenger was, if he had the support of Caisin and her friends he must at least be a better prospect than Mac Dara.

  I could hardly believe it. Before dusk we might be home again, bearing th
e news that Mac Dara no longer ruled in the Otherworld. Never mind that the moment we were safely out of this place, the grief I had locked away inside me would emerge and undo me completely. At this moment I was a warrior. If I harnessed my anger, it could carry me all the way to victory.

  There were more of Caisin’s folk than I had thought: too many to count. In their finery of blue and silver—clan colors, I assumed—they resembled a flock of exotic birds. There was a suppressed excitement in their manner this morning. They murmured and whispered together, gesturing with pale hands. Dioman was there, though today he did not have his owl. I saw the councilor, Breasal, somber in his dark robe. He was the only person not dressed for a celebration.

  And now, coming into the central hall where we had gathered, here were Luachan and Finbar, clad in garments to match mine, all silver and blue and feathers. Luachan carried it off remarkably well and I was reminded that he was a chieftain’s son. Finbar was pale, his face all eyes, but he held his head high. Gods, I hoped his instincts were right about this.

  “You’ll be wanting to fetch the horse yourself,” Dioman said, coming over. “I’ll take you there.”

  This simple act of courtesy softened my mood. I thanked him, and the three of us followed him through the winding ways to the horse enclosure, where Swift, blissfully ignorant of the trial awaiting him, was grazing. As we approached the barrier a young man of the fey came up, holding a soft halter and leading rope. I could hardly have organized things better myself.

  “He’ll be best not walking with a large group,” I said to Dioman as Luachan opened the gate for me. “I don’t think he’ll let anyone but Luachan lead him. And I’ll need to go alongside to help keep him calm. I want Finbar in sight all the time.”

  “Of course.” Dioman did not attempt to join us in the enclosure, but waited by the gate. “You will be concealed on the way, so Mac Dara’s spies cannot see you.”

  “Concealed?” asked Luachan. “What do you mean by that?”

  Dioman spread his hands in a gesture of apology. “A charm. Think of it as a veil cast over you. You will see and feel nothing out of the ordinary, and nor will the horse, but you will be hidden from curious eyes. We can maintain that shield over you until it is time to reveal our hand. My sister will give a sign, we will lift the charm, and you will step forward.”

  “What is to stop Mac Dara from blasting us with some kind of spell the moment he sees us?”

  Dioman favored me with a charming smile. “The Great Conclave is governed by strict rules, Lady Maeve, old and respected rules. Once a challenge is accepted, both parties must abide by those rules for the duration of their encounter. You will be safe. If it were otherwise, believe me, my sister would not have asked you to help us today.”

  “What are the rules?”

  “They are many and complex. You need know only that they are intended to keep the challenges both fair and safe.”

  “You used the word encounter,” I said. “And earlier, I remember Caisin speaking of combat. Are these challenges in the nature of…fights? Or are they displays of magic, one participant trying to outdo the other?”

  “Either is possible,” Dioman said lightly, as if it hardly mattered one way or the other.

  There was no time to quiz him: Caisin had bid us hurry. In the back of my mind was the knowledge that Mac Dara had never before been challenged at the conclave. How, then, could anyone be sure he would obey the rules, whatever they were? If he saw the conditions of the geis occurring before his eyes, would any rules stop him from attacking me or Finbar or Swift in order to stop the curse from coming to fulfillment?

  “This is the way it’s meant to be, Maeve,” said Finbar, his voice grave as a druid’s. “Do you want me to help with Swift?”

  We were lucky. A night in the quiet of Caisin’s hall and a good breakfast had done wonders for Swift’s state of mind, though the scratches and bruises of his flight through the forest were still apparent. I spoke to him and stroked him while Luachan put on the halter, and we led him out without any difficulty. Despite that, Luachan was even whiter than Finbar, and there was a grim set to his jaw. I saw, now, that he had indeed been given weapons. He carried a knife and a sword, both sheathed.

  “Fashioned from bone, or something very like it,” he said, observing my interest. “With an exceedingly sharp edge. I won’t hesitate to use them. But I hope it won’t come to that.”

  We led Swift to the area where Caisin’s people were gathering, and I saw that many of these splendidly clad folk were armed. Indeed, they appeared equipped to deal with a veritable army of assailants. There were willow bows and bright-feathered arrows, sheathed swords and knives, pale spears that might have been of wood or bone. This was both reassuring—we would be well protected—and troubling. Why would they come thus prepared unless they were expecting to fight?

  Headed by Caisin, the party moved out into the open forest, though it was hard to tell where her hall ended and the forest began. Remembering that strange procession I had seen by night, I had thought the Fair Folk might ride, but all went on foot. Swift’s coat gleamed against the many blues of gown and cloak and headdress. Luachan and I walked one on either side of him, with Finbar next to me. Luachan held the leading rope; I put my hand up to touch Swift’s neck from time to time and reassure him that all was well. If he could have known how my heart was drumming he might have walked less easily.

  We wound our way between the oaks as the sun rose higher and the birds carolled a greeting to a fairer day. The leaf litter underfoot was saturated, clinging in dark clumps to the pretty shoes I had been given, but the rain was quite gone and the air was still. Provided one walked briskly, the day felt almost warm. Tonight, I told myself. Just get through this, and tonight you will be safely back home, and the job will be done, and you can weep and scream and rage all you want. Be brave. Be as brave as Aunt Liadan would be. I tucked thoughts of Bear and Badger away in a hidden corner, deep inside me. I must be iron strong. Nothing must get in the way of this mission.

  “All right, Finbar?”

  “Mm.”

  “I don’t think it’s far.”

  “Don’t worry, Maeve,” my little brother said. “I’ll look after you.”

  I would have said the same to him, but this was the statement of a man, even if that man was only seven, and I must accept it as such or insult the brave soul he was. “Thank you,” I said.

  The path began to ascend, heading up a thickly wooded hillside broken by stony outcrops down which streamlets tumbled to lose themselves in the boggy ground below. We climbed for some time. The pitch was becoming almost too steep for Swift when we rounded a corner and the ground leveled. The path broadened. Caisin’s folk came in all around us, blocking my view ahead. Dioman and several other tall people had moved to form a kind of guard around Swift. The horse turned his head from side to side and whisked his tail.

  “Ask them to stay farther back, my lord,” I said to Dioman. “Swift isn’t used to so many people; he may bolt again. Luachan, keep a firm hold.”

  “I have him safe,” Luachan said.

  All at once everyone stopped walking. I stood there, stroking Swift’s face with my knuckles, and after a while Fiamain Flamehair threaded her way back to us. “Maeve, Finbar, you will wait on the rise up there, by those rocks,” she said. “Druid, guard them well. My brother will stay beside you. The veil of concealment lies over you still and will remain until Caisin gives the word.” She stood before me, a vision in rich dark blue, her bright hair caught up in a net that seemed decorated with real fireflies, for they danced around her head in a sparkling halo. “You must not call out, or run forward, or do anything that might break the charm. Do you understand? Much rides on this.”

  I understood all too well. Get this wrong in any particular, and not only might I never reach home again, but Finbar too would be condemned, not to speak of Luachan, who was only doing his job, and poor innocent Swift. “Yes,” I said at the same time as Finbar chimed in with
, “Of course we understand.”

  “Very well,” said Fiamain, and I thought her voice held a tinge of regret. “You know what you must do when the time comes?”

  “Calm Swift with my voice,” I said. “That is all I have been told.”

  “It will suffice. Make sure, when it is time, that you do not lose sight of that simple instruction.”

  A young man of the fey stepped forward, reaching to take Swift’s leading rein.

  “No!” I protested.

  “The horse can go no farther with you,” Dioman said. “He must wait elsewhere; there is no room for him up there and, as you yourself said, he will be disturbed by the crowd. Let Glas take him, Lady Maeve.”

  “You don’t understand. He’s not used to strangers; he’ll be upset. If I’m supposed to calm him later, this is not—” I stopped myself. The last thing Swift needed to hear right now was my voice raised in anxious protest.

  “Glas will take him to a place with food and water, out of sight of the crowd,” said Fiamain. “He can wait there until it’s time.”

  “Why can’t we wait there with him?”

  “No, Maeve.” Finbar surprised me. “We need to be here, where we can see.”

  I hesitated. He was right, of course; if we did not watch the conclave proceed, we might not be adequately prepared for what lay before us. Meeting the challenge was vital. And I could not send Luachan with Swift. He must stay close to Finbar.

  “I think we have no choice,” said Luachan quietly. Without waiting for me to say anything, he passed the rein to Glas, who led Swift away.

  “Come,” said Dioman. “I will take you to your position.”

  The Grand Conclave took place around the rim of a rock basin. The hollow was both broad and deep. After the heavy rains of the last few days it should surely have been full of water, a whole lake of it, but there must have been a drainage point somewhere, for the basin was dry. The bottom was filled with a jumble of round stones each the size of a man’s head, atop which was a sizeable mound of sticks and branches. It was almost like a fire laid on a hearth; but this would be a giant’s hearth, the flames from which would roar high, hot as a dragon’s breath. Oh gods. I looked at Finbar, and he looked back at me. Logs, logs, a hundred logs, two hundred he piled up…