Sevenwaters [06] Flame of Sevenwaters

by Juliet Marillier

  Mac Dara’s voice broke the stillness, the hard tone making Swift start and pull. I clenched my teeth, willing strength to my arms. “What is this, Caisin? Using cripples and children to make a point? Where is the magic in that?”

  “Kind hands and quiet…” Swift was unsettled now, shifting his feet. I felt the pull on my waist as his movement tightened the rope. “Quiet, my lovely boy, calm and quiet…”

  “Ah,” came Caisin’s voice. It was sweetly musical as ever, but now there was a new note in it. If Mac Dara was iron, she was flint. “That remains to be seen. Dioman, untie the horse!”

  “Maeve,” said Finbar, “slide down to sit. Put your legs around the pole.”

  What? She hadn’t really meant that, had she? Why would they—Dioman was untying the rope. I caught a glimpse of Finbar following his own advice, locking legs and arms tight around the support, his face a white mask. For me it was too late. Swift was untied, save for the double rope linking him to my brother and me. If I could not keep him standing still, he’d pull us straight into the fire.

  “Sweet…water,” I gasped, then forced my voice calm. My skin was all cold sweat. Spots danced before my eyes. “Green fields, Swift. Calm boy. My lovely boy…” I sucked in a sobbing breath. “Kind…hands…” My feet were sliding. Swift tossed his head one way, the other way. My arms ached; my stomach was a hard knot.

  “Caisin,” said Mac Dara, “this is ridiculous. What are you doing?”

  “I heard tell of a charm,” Caisin said. “A rhyme concerning yourself, my lord. It was revealed to me by one of the little folk. Another of the same kind as our piper here.”

  “Sweet water, Swift…green fields…” I was running with sweat. Swift danced from side to side, confused by the other voices. “Swift, be calm. Hold still, sweet boy.”

  “The rhyme may be familiar to you,” Caisin went on. “It goes like this:

  Held by hands that cannot hold

  Stands the steed so proud and bold

  Chieftain’s son with seer’s eyes

  Observes the Lord of Oak’s demise.”

  “What?” roared Mac Dara.

  Across the stone basin, Swift shied. I bit back a scream as my arms left the pole and both Finbar and I were swept toward the edge. I crouched, hooking an arm awkwardly around the rope, leaning back with my full weight. The yearling had not bolted; not yet. He stood there trembling, looking across at us with wild eyes. No wonder he was terrified; it must feel to him as if I were trying to drag him into the fire. How long until the count reached two hundred?

  “Hold still, Swift, lovely boy. Hold still for me, dear one.” Breathe, Maeve. “Be calm, be still. All will be well.”

  “Be silent, save for the girl.” The calm voice was Fraochan’s, reminding those assembled that Caisin had asked for quiet.

  “You’re fools,” Mac Dara spat. “There’s far more to the rhyme than those few lines. Besides, there’s no way the cripple can hold that creature for the full count. She’ll be over the edge in a heartbeat, and the lad with her…Is that Lord Sean’s son?” Something had entered his voice: the merest thread of unease.

  A pox on you. This cripple will hold on as long as she needs to. “Be strong, Finbar,” I muttered. “We can do this.” Then, in the soft, confident voice Swift knew, “Calm, dear one. Green field. Sweet water.”

  “Over the edge in a heartbeat?” Caisin gave a musical chuckle. “We can’t have that. Let’s even the balance a little, shall we? In the rhyme, I believe the next lines are these: Sever now the ties that bind, Brothers in purpose and in kind. You did not think, when you amused yourself playing tricks with a chieftain’s sons, that your transformations would suit my purpose so very well, did you? Those brothers are fiercely loyal to the cripple, and she to them. I wonder if they would die for her? Let’s find out.”

  My lips continued their soothing flow of words. My gaze stayed on Swift as he stepped to and fro, every move another tug on the ropes, another inch closer to the flames. But I heard her and began to understand. Caisin had lied to me. She had held back part of the geis. Something about chieftains’ sons, a pair of brothers—Cruinn’s boys? What had they to do with this?

  Caisin gave a crisp order: “Bring them forth!”

  A stifled exclamation from Finbar. A scuffling disturbance on his other side, as if someone were forcing a way through the crowd.

  “Maeve!” my brother whispered, his tone so urgent that I turned my head for a moment.

  My boys. My lovely boys, their eyes wild, their mouths muzzled, their pelts a mess of bloody wounds. My boys straining against chains held by leather-gauntleted guards. Alive. They were alive.

  “Bear!” The name burst out of me in a great sob. “Badger!”

  The rope tightened as Swift reacted to my cry, jerking me forward; Finbar slid alongside me, scrabbling for purchase.

  “Remove the muzzles and release them!” ordered Caisin. “Quickly!”

  “Hold still, Swift,” I called with tears coursing down my cheeks. “Home soon. Kind hands and quiet.” I could not look at Bear; I could not command his obedience, for my voice must be for Swift alone. Dear gods, if the dogs jumped up to greet me we’d all go straight over the edge.

  They ran toward us, whimpering their love and confusion. My rope juddered and grew taut. Beside me Finbar copied my stance, his small body leaning back hard.

  “Bear! Badger!” My brother spoke crisply, in creditable imitation of my own style. “Bite!”

  We had trained them well when we taught them to chew through bonds. Badger set his teeth to Finbar’s rope and Bear attacked mine. They gnawed steadily, as if there were no fire, no crowd, no dear friend sliding inch by inch toward death.

  “The count of two hundred must have been up long ago.” Mac Dara spoke into the tense silence.

  “I make it one hundred and sixty-seven,” came Caisin’s voice. “Of course, this valiant effort is doomed to failure. Is not the next part of the geis, Evil’s defeat demands the price of a brother’s sacrifice? You know, I believe this is the very first time I’ve managed to shock you, my lord. It’s true; I do indeed have the whole geis. Very soon all the pieces will be in place. Best bid your friend there make haste, Maeve. You’re perilously near the edge.”

  Two crows flew low over the stone basin as she spoke, startling Swift. The ropes tightened again, and this time I could not stand against the pull. As the rope holding Finbar frayed and parted under Badger’s assault, my brother collapsed on the stones and in one heart-stopping slide I was on my knees, an arm’s length from the edge. The flames crackled. Smoke filled my lungs, robbing me of breath. I could not speak.

  A confusion, then: Finbar grabbing my arm, trying to pull me back; Luachan hauling him off. Finbar shouting, “Badger, run!” Bear’s amber eyes, his bloodied pelt, his jaws still chewing on the rope; a smell of singeing hair; Caisin’s laugh like a peal of little bells. The rope taut as a bowstring as Swift panicked, pulling me to the fire. The flames, oh gods, the hot flames on my face…Bear between me and the fire, right on the edge, still working steadily on the rope. The clearing suddenly dark, as if Morrigan herself hovered over this field of sacrifice…A brother’s sacrifice…

  “Bear, stop!” I gasped. “Run!” And when he would not, “Bear, please!”

  The pipe sounded. The rope parted. Across the basin, Swift was a blur of white, fleeing through the crowd and away. Bear slipped over the edge and was gone.

  CHAPTER 16

  F acedown on the stones, I wept. I could feel Finbar’s hand on my back, patting me, but I could not make myself rise.

  “It’s over, Caisin,” said Mac Dara. It sounded as if he was smiling. “The count is up; the signal has sounded; the display is finished. You’re out of time, and look! I’m still here, alive and well. What a dismal effort that was.” A pause. “Fraochan,” he went on, “in view of the complete lack of response from our audience, I think we can assume Lady Caisin has failed in her attempt to usurp my position. Can we make an e
nd of this farce?”

  There was a silence. Finbar’s patting ceased; I thought perhaps he was rising to his feet. Despite everything, I lifted my head and looked.

  Mac Dara stood on the tongue of stone. His arms were folded and his lean features wore a look of wry amusement. Close by was Caisin Silverhair, gazing at him as if she could not believe he was still there. Her serene demeanor was gone; her lovely features were distorted with angry frustration. “This can’t be,” she muttered. “All the pieces are there, every last one. The cripple, the boy seer, the brothers, severing the bonds; we had everything—”

  “Give it up, Caisin,” said the Lord of the Oak. “I’ve won; you’ve lost. What is that rhyme but a childish nonsense, spoken by a babbling old woman half out of her wits? I’ve never believed in it, and you’re wasting your time if you imagine…”

  I stopped listening, for close at hand there was a wheezing, rasping, desperate sound, a sound that went straight to my heart. “Finbar,” I whispered, not daring to believe it. “Look.”

  A pair of black paws, on the edge. A whimper. Help me. I crawled to the rim, heedless of the burning heat. “Bear,” I breathed. “Come, Bear.”

  He had landed on a ledge, only an arm’s length down. On his own, he could not climb up, and the fire was testing him hard. If he tried to jump up he would likely fall into the basin and be lost.

  “I’ll do it.”

  Finbar was beside me, reaching down without hesitation, as if there were no fire at all. He grabbed Bear’s collar and hauled, adding his small strength to the dog’s. With a desperate, scrabbling effort, Bear pulled himself up over the edge to collapse, shuddering, beside me on the rocks. His breathing was like the crackle of burning pine wood; his flanks heaved. I bent over him, the world vanishing in the joy and sorrow of the moment. Oh, so many hurts. The bloody wounds, the singed patches, the sheer exhaustion of his long journey. I bathed his face with my tears. Weakly, Bear lifted his head and licked my cheek.

  “Finbar,” I said, “you’re—”

  Caisin’s voice cut across mine, knife-sharp. “No wonder it didn’t work. That creature is still alive! Luachan, finish him.”

  It happened in a flash, Luachan seizing a fist-sized stone and striding toward us, Finbar shouting, “No!” I threw myself over Bear. An instant later came the smashing blow as Luachan brought the stone down.

  I felt the force of it first. A heartbeat later came the fearful pain. I’d flung myself down wildly, my body across Bear’s, my hand over his head. The death blow had come down on that hand. All in vain, for Bear lay limp and motionless under me, his blood and mine flowing together.

  A brother’s sacrifice. A brother had to die for the geis to be fulfilled. And when he refused to die, when he battled his way back against all odds, she snuffed him out without a second thought, so she could get what she wanted. Not a wiser, better world. Not peace and justice for her people. Power. It was all power. Caisin was no better than Mac Dara. It was she who had stolen my dogs, she who had had them beaten and chained. When I’d refused to bend to her will, she had manipulated me with a cruel lie. If she became ruler, things would go on just the same as before. What were we in the long and devious schemes of the Fair Folk? Nothing. Nothing at all. They took us and used us and threw us away the moment they grew bored.

  Finbar was crying, a child again. I lay there with Bear in my arms, my cheek against his neck. He was still warm. My boy, my dear one, my lost and found. He who never judged; who loved without reservation; who understood what happiness was. He was gone.

  “It’s over, Caisin,” Mac Dara said. “The challenge is finished; the conclave draws to a close. And you have made me very angry. So angry, my lady, that I do not believe I can allow you to depart in peace to spend three years plotting how best you may trick me next time. There is ill work here, spying out of secrets best left untouched, meddling with matters that should be kept under lock and key. Come out and stand before me, Caisin Silverhair. Or are you afraid to face me on the tongue of stone, outside the protection of a formal challenge?”

  A crow cawed, the harsh sound jolting me. I heard a murmuring from the gathered folk, a whispering, a rustling. I did not lift my head; did not dare. For as I lay prostrate with my face against the neck of my fallen warrior, I felt beneath my cheek a faint throbbing, the weak but unmistakable pulsing of blood through his veins.

  I lay still, hardly daring to breathe. Caisin had been quick to order his death before; she would do it again without hesitation. A brother’s sacrifice. Eyes squeezed shut, jaw clenched tight, injured hand screaming with pain, I made myself as still as stone.

  The pipe sounded again, and this time its music was a march of celebration, a fanfare of welcome, a melody that set joy in the heart and made the blood sing with new life. I lay immobile while the wondrous tune swelled and dipped and soared through the clearing.

  When the music ceased, something had changed. The silence was profound; it felt as if, in all that great crowd of folk, not one dared draw a breath.

  “Maeve,” whispered Finbar urgently. “Look up.”

  I lifted my head. The clearing was utterly still. Clouds had covered the sun and the place lay in shadow; the red-gold light from the fire played upon the lovely features of the Fair Folk and touched their rich garments with points of glittering brightness. It illuminated my brother’s small face, his mouth slightly open, his eyes full of wonder. It spread deceptive warmth over the handsome countenance of Luachan, who stood close by us with his knife in his hand and eyes like death. And it lit up the two figures on the tongue of stone, each bound from shoulders to knees. The ropes that wrapped them were fibrous and leafy; they looked like vines. Mac Dara and Caisin. Caught in an enchantment; paralyzed; helpless. Who in all Erin had the power to do such a thing?

  “Your reign is over, Mac Dara. Your time here is at an end.” The voice rang out, deep and strong, making me tremble. A familiar voice. I struggled to sit, my injured hand against my chest, my good hand resting on Bear’s neck, where the pulse still beat with steadfast will. I looked across the basin to the place opposite the tongue of stone. There stood two men. One was tall and pale, his hair dark flame, his eyes a curious shade something akin to mulberry. He was clad in the white robe of a senior druid, and around his neck he wore a golden torc. Ciarán. Ciarán here at the very heart of the Otherworld. His right arm was raised, the hand held flat, palm down, fingers pointing toward the tongue of stone.

  The man beside him was in the same pose; it was plain the two of them were casting a powerful magic. This man…gods, it was Mac Dara! How could that be, for he was on the other side, bound and immobile…I looked from one to the other and back again.

  “Cathal,” whispered Finbar.

  Cathal. My sister’s husband. Mac Dara’s son. There he stood, a tall young warrior dressed in black, his face as grave and solemn as Ciarán’s. He spoke.

  “The reign of darkness draws to a close. Would that this transition had come about in another way. But you gave us no choice.”

  Mac Dara’s face was suddenly transformed. Boredom and malice vanished away. His narrow features were, quite simply, suffused with joy.

  “My son! You’ve come home!” he cried out, and I shivered to hear it, for if I had thought him a person without a heart, now I knew I had been wrong. “It is true; my time here will soon be over. Thanks to this meddler who thought to challenge me, its end is upon us as I speak. But I can go gladly now. You are here, my boy—the only one worthy to take my place; the one destined to rule this realm as prince and lord. This is your home and your inheritance. Step up, take it. No need for these bonds. What is yours by blood, I give to you freely and with goodwill.”

  Caisin spat on the rocks by Mac Dara’s feet. “This is absurd!” she snarled. “How dare you bind us, upstart! How dare you confine us? You stand in company with a druid, a man who walks the path of light—how can such as he form any part of this? He is of humankind; he is of as little consequence as the cripple
there and her scrawny wretch of a brother. You, druid!” She glared at Ciarán. “What authority can you have here, when you cannot even keep your own kind in check?” Her glance moved to Luachan, then back again. “So clever, so wise, yet you never knew there was a spy in your midst! You never knew you sheltered and taught and nurtured my secret weapon among your own brethren. You were blind to him as he worked on the child, and on the cripple, so they would come to us exactly when we needed them. What kind of druid are you?”

  Ciarán regarded her as a wise teacher might gaze on a disruptive student. “I am a druid whose mother was of the Tuatha De,” he said mildly. “This charm of binding I learned from her, and much else besides. It seems you, too, may have overlooked something, Lady Caisin.”

  “You cannot pass the princedom over to Mac Dara’s son,” Caisin said, her tone dangerous. “A blood claim on its own cannot stand up! This should be mine! I was the one who found the geis. I was the one who set it in place! I am the challenger, not this—this half-breed! Look at him! He’s his father all over again! Is that what you want? Folk of the Otherworld, you must support my claim!” She was shouting now. “My clan deserves this—it is our time! You know this! Breasal, tell them!” But her councilor bowed his head and spoke not a word.

  “Enough of this!” Cathal’s voice rang out, confident and clear. His expression belied it; he was pale, drawn, suddenly old beyond his years. “My lady, if you believe all the pieces of the geis are in place, you are mistaken. The verse speaks of a brother’s sacrifice. The hound that lies there is indeed a brother; but I think he is not dead.” He looked all around the clearing, as if assessing the hushed crowd. “This conclave marks the end of Mac Dara’s rule,” he said. “The time of fear and malice is over and a new age dawns. For that new age there must be a new leader, or all will quickly turn to chaos. My lords and ladies, you need a leader not only for your own kind, but for every race that dwells here—the great, the small, the powerful and the oft-overlooked. I am—”