Heir to Sevenwaters (37 page)

Where have you wandered, my dear one, my own
Where have you wandered, my handsome young man?
I’ve been to the river, I’ve been to the well
I’ve seen my reflection, I’ve gazed into hell
But I still cannot find my way home
I still cannot find my way home.

I played with the tune until I had it just right, with an uncertainty to the ending that reflected the words, words that had started to come to me earlier today. I wondered what Aidan would have thought of the piece.

Where have you wandered, my dear one, my own
Where have you wandered, my handsome young man?
I’ve run through the forest, I’ve climbed up the hill
I’ve fought with my dreams and surrendered my will
And I still cannot find my way home
I still cannot find my way home.

I winced as the comb struck another recalcitrant twist. Making myself look even half tidy was going to take all night. Still, I must persevere. It sounded as if this Lord of the Oak would be influenced as much by my appearance as by the heartfelt plea I intended to make to him. I must do whatever I could to get my brother back.

I hummed quietly to myself, working on a new verse.
I’ve strayed in a wilderness tangled and wild . . .
I hadn’t intended the song to be about Cathal, but it undoubtedly was. All the same, the sadness in it went beyond his story. When I thought of him as a boy, finding his mother dead, I thought of my own mother and the way she had looked when we told her Finbar was gone. I considered Father’s disappointment in me, and I thought of Johnny and Gareth, and how difficult it must be to love somebody and to have to keep it concealed from most of the world. I looked at Cathal again. He was lying on his back with his head turned away from me, his dark hair spread across the ground, the pale skin of his neck exposed above the fabric of his shirt. He had one arm outstretched, his hand open, the long fingers relaxed.

My heart stood still. Suddenly, urgently, I wanted to touch, to stroke, to lay my hand against his neck or his cheek. His pose was that of a sleeping child, all trust. But the feelings that surged in me were those of a woman for a man, the same I had felt earlier, but a hundred times more powerful. I wanted to lie down there beside him. I wanted to feel his body against mine. I imagined his hands touching me with tenderness and passion, and mine responding in the same way. I had not felt like this when Aidan smiled and spoke sweet words to me. My body had not responded in this way when I danced with him. And although Aidan and I had made excellent music together, I’d never had the slightest inclination to make up a song about him. The yearning that had stirred within me at Cathal’s first kiss, when we had thought we were saying goodbye, was growing so strong that there would come a time when it was impossible to conceal. Here by the fire at night, with the forest silent around us, it would be all too easy to surrender to it. I considered Cathal’s remark about setting obstacles between me and Aidan, the one he had refused to explain. His attitude to me had softened greatly; I’d have been blind if I hadn’t noticed that. Was there something more in it? Perhaps that was wishful thinking on my part. He did keep pushing me away.

I imagined saying
I love you
to Cathal. Or, still more shocking,
I want you.
How would he answer that? With tenderness or with mocking laughter? Once we were back in our own world, very likely he would be the old Cathal again, the one I could never be quite sure of. The trickster.

“Ouch,” I muttered as the comb snagged itself again.

A familiar, eldritch cry rang out in the forest. Beyond the barrier of thorn, something moved. My skin rose in goose bumps. I sat very still, peering into the darkness, wondering if it had been only a bird or a fox. Perhaps Dog Mask had come to check up on us. But maybe it was something else. Maybe that thing that cried so forlornly was crouched right next to the hedge. I was supposed to be on watch. I got slowly to my feet, my heart thumping. I couldn’t wake Cathal every time the leaves shook in the breeze. On the other hand, if there was a threat I shouldn’t just sit here and wait for it to arrive. I bent and took hold of a burning stick from the fire, wincing as a splinter speared the skin of my hand. I walked in the general direction of the gate, the makeshift torch casting a wayward light over my path. It wasn’t far; the arch of twisted branches soon came into view. The gate stood closed. I had no intention of venturing outside it without our guide. I stood four paces away and lifted my torch as high as I could.

Beyond the thorn hedge, the forest seemed empty of all life. The wailing had ceased. Nothing stirred; no bird uttered a sleepy call, no hedgehog or mouse made a rustling progress through the leaf litter. I was about to lower the brand and retreat to the fire when I saw them: a procession of gray-cloaked figures moving with slow purpose around the perimeter of our enclosure. Each walked alone. They maintained a distance of about four strides from one another. Their footfalls were silent; they passed like shadows. What were they doing? Patrolling the hedge to keep us safe, to ward off intruders? Or ensuring we stayed confined? One thing was certain: their great height marked these minders out as no kin of Dog Mask. In the tales, the Old Ones were always described as squat and small.

My eyes were becoming accustomed to the odd light, the flickering cast by the fire stick, the shadowy darkness around and beyond the gate. The walkers in the forest were deeply hooded; I could see nothing of their faces. Here and there the burning brand caught a pinpoint of light, as of a bright eye, and here and there a long-fingered white hand showed against the gray of a garment. I thought I could hear a sound of slow breathing. I felt the chill of the uncanny deep inside me and was afraid.

“Come out,” someone whispered. “Open the gate. You want your brother, don’t you? Come and fetch him.”

CHAPTER 12

F
inbar. Gods, was he just beyond the hedge, perhaps held in the arms of one of these gray ghosts? It was dark and cold. I must bring him in to the fire . . . I took a step toward the gate and stumbled over a stone, almost dropping my brand. I clutched at the stick. A jab of pain went through my hand, where the splinter was lodged in the skin. What had got into me? It was crazy to consider going out there.
Beyond that barrier, risk is everywhere,
Dog Mask had said.

“Clodagh.” Someone spoke across the gate, soft-voiced. A woman. Framed by her gray hood, her face was oval and lovely. Her eyes were the blue of a summer sky, her skin like fresh cream. My mouth dried up; my heart beat faster. Was not this Deirdre of the Forest, the woman of the Tuatha De who had once guided my grandmother when she undertook a fearsome test of endurance? She seemed exactly the way Sibeal had described her. Now she was smiling, though her eyes were sad. She looked like a friend.

“My lady,” I said, my voice coming out as a nervous croak,

“what do you want from me?”

“We have your brother,” the woman said. “Just over there—look.” I craned my neck. One of the other figures had moved up closer and was holding a small bundle. In the uneven light I could not see it clearly. “Open the gate, Clodagh, step through. I’m here to help you, daughter of Sevenwaters. Your mission is at an end.”

So easy. All I had to do was unlatch the gate and take five or six steps and I could have Finbar in my arms. My mother’s hope, my father’s joy. He was almost within my grasp. But . . .

“What about the password?” I asked.

She chuckled in amusement. “Don’t worry about that. The gate will let you out; the password is only for going in. A trick devised by meddlesome folk. Ignore it. Come, my dear, come and fetch the child. You must be longing to take him home.”

Something was wrong here. No mention of Becan. Wasn’t this supposed to be an exchange? And if they wanted to help me, why didn’t they pass Finbar over the gate or bring him in to me?

“Please hold him up where I can see him,” I said, shivering at my own temerity. It was not for a human girl to question the motives of the Tuatha De. They were folk of immense power.

The woman clicked her long white fingers, and the other person stepped up beside the gate, holding the bundle for my scrutiny. I was not tall enough to look over the top of the gate, so I peered between the woven twigs and branches, trying to position the brand without setting fire to anything. Within the folds of gray, a baby slept peacefully. Rosebud lips; a decisive nose; a lock of dark hair. My breath caught in my throat. It really was Finbar. Only a step away. I didn’t even need to leave the sanctuary of the clearing. All that was required was to unlatch the gate, put one foot out and take him in my arms.

“You will not have to face the Lord of the Oak,” the woman said. “Take your brother now and make your escape before Mac Dara learns of your presence, and you can be back at Sevenwaters by morning. The path home is easier.”

Mac Dara? The Lord of the Oak was the same person as the devious prince of the old tales? How could I possibly face up to such a legendary figure, surely one of the most powerful forces in the Otherworld? I should snatch this opportunity and get away as soon as I could. “I thought this would be an exchange,” I made myself say. “The . . .” I would not call Becan a changeling. “The other child for my brother.”

There was a little silence. “No need for that,” the woman said. “Come, step through the gate.”

Was she saying that against all expectation I could take both babies home to Sevenwaters with me? That I could spare Becan the uncertainty of a future amongst folk who were prepared to give him away, and save my brother as well? If I did not seize this chance I would regret it forever.

“All right,” I said, and reached to unfasten the gate. It was awkward with the fire stick in my hands.

“Clodagh!” A shout, and running footsteps behind me. A hand snatching the burning brand from me, another grabbing my fingers and wrenching them from the latch. “What are you doing?”

“No, Cathal! Let me go! You don’t understand, they have Finbar—” I struggled to get my fingers on the gate, but Cathal had dragged me back out of reach. Now he had his arm around my waist from behind, his grip iron strong. “Let me go!” I sobbed. “He’s just there, I can reach him! Cathal, please!”

On the far side of the hedge the woman in gray stood silent, eyes fixed on us. She watched awhile as I fought and pleaded, then she spoke again. Her frosty tone turned me still and silent in Cathal’s arms.

“As a guardian, you do a poor job,” she observed. “You almost let her drown. Now you sleep while she wanders.”

“What do you want with us?” It was a challenge, bold and strong, but I could feel a trembling in Cathal’s body that belied the confidence in his words.

“All this way, and you do not know?” the woman asked, and I wondered that I had ever thought her friendly, for now her lovely eyes were hostile.

“You lied to her,” Cathal said. “Do that again and you’ll answer to me.” This time I heard something in his voice that frightened me, and to my surprise, the woman of the Fair Folk took a step backward.

“A warning for you,” she said with a little cold smile. “Do not leave her alone again. Next time she might go too far for you to follow.” She motioned to her companion, and together they turned their backs and walked away without another word, carrying Finbar with them.

“No—wait—!” I cried, but they moved into the shadows and were gone.

“Back to the fire,” Cathal said.

I stood frozen, resisting the pull of his arm. Had I got this so wrong? Had I been utterly blind? That
had
been my brother. I was sure of it. “They had Finbar,” I said, and my voice came out small and wobbly. My nose and eyes were running and my hand hurt. “They had him, Cathal. He was right there.”

“Come, Clodagh. Whether that was Finbar or not, he’s gone now and those folk with him. You’re cold and shocked. Come back to the fire and you can shout at me all you want.”

But when we reached the fire, I sat down and found that my anger was all gone, with only sorrow left in its place. “I was so sure she was Deirdre of the Forest,” I said, “the woman who has appeared to Sibeal in the past, as she did to my grandmother long ago. A benign presence. It seemed so easy. She said she wanted to help us. It seemed right, Cathal.” I bent over my hand, trying to get my fingernails around the end of the splinter.

“Let me.” He sat down beside me, took my hand in his and examined the sliver of wood through narrowed eyes. “It’s in deep; I might need to use a knife.”

“Just do it, please. I’m sorry, Cathal. The look in her eyes at the end . . . I forgot the warnings. She mocked the Old Ones. She said they were only meddling. And perhaps they are. I don’t know whom to believe anymore. I don’t know whom to trust.”

“Trusting me might be a good first step.” He had taken out a long-bladed knife. He held my hand firmly and maneuvered the weapon with skill. I shut my eyes; that seemed to make it hurt less.