Seer of Sevenwaters (13 page)

“About Svala,” she said. “Maybe she’s best left to herself. They may not stay long, anyway, her and Knut. Johnny will be wanting them off the island as soon as she’s fit to travel. I suppose they’ll go back where they came from. Poor things; a voyage to find a new home, such hopes, and ending the way it did.”

“Mm.”

It was sad indeed. For each of those who were drowned, there was a story like that of Knut and Svala, a tale of opportunities lost, of paths cut abruptly short, of folk left behind. Ardal’s must not end that way. It must not.

“Sibeal?” Biddy was watching me closely. “Why don’t you go out for a walk? It’s a lovely day. Gull told me you were working too hard, and I see it’s so. Finish that food first, and then go out and enjoy the sunshine. You won’t make things better by wearing yourself out, lass.”

“I should be there. With Ardal. It feels right.”

“Ardal wouldn’t want you getting sick on his behalf, not if he’s got any common sense at all.”

She was right, of course. Besides, if I went straight back to the infirmary, Muirrin would only shoo me out again.

I had not explored the eastern end of Inis Eala, so I headed that way, skirting the women’s quarters. Down by the scattering of small huts that housed folk with children, a young woman I knew as Alba was playing with a mob of small boys and girls. Their game involved chasing, catching and making a range of animal noises. I lifted a hand in greeting. Alba, flushed and laughing, waved wildly back.

A group of men was working on an almost-complete cottage, two thatching the roof, others laying stones for a pathway. Tall, lanky Spider was supervising them, and I stopped to greet him.

“What do you think, Sibeal?” he asked, casting his eye over the humble but pleasing dwelling.

“You’ve done a fine job. Is this Clodagh’s and Cathal’s new house?”

“That’s right, and it’s a pleasure to build it for them. Should be finished well before that baby arrives; our extra worker has made all the difference.” Spider jerked his head in the direction of the men heaving slabs of stone into place, and I saw that one of them was Knut, stripped to the waist and dripping with sweat. He straightened as he saw me, and gave me a nod.

“That fellow does the work of two.” Spider grinned at the Norseman. “Don’t know how we managed without him.”

“You walking,” Knut called, addressing me in Irish. “All alone. Not safe.”

I was taken aback, and could not think what to say to him.

“Man go with you. Better.”

Spider’s grin widened. He made no attempt to speak for me.

“I’m used to walking on my own,” I said. What did Knut think I was, a pampered princess with no common sense at all? If this was his attitude, no wonder his wife’s tendency to wander barefoot on the shore troubled him. “I am a druid; I go under the protection of the gods.”

It was not possible to tell if Knut had understood me. He stood there studying me, arms folded. I had no idea what he was thinking.

“I’ll bid you good morning, Spider,” I said. “Muirrin sent me out for fresh air and exercise, so I’d better make sure I get them.”

As I was turning away, Knut spoke again. “The man. Very sick. Die soon, yes?” Before I could reply he added, “Sad.”

Knut did not sound especially sad, but then, his Irish was limited—perhaps he did not realize how blunt his speech sounded.

“Ardal is still alive.” My tone was sharper than was quite courteous. Out here, with the sunshine on my face and the wind in my hair, I had begun to feel that perhaps everything would be all right; that Ardal would win his fight, and achieve his mission, and . . . I had not thought beyond that point. Knut’s words had conjured images of Ardal racked with coughing, Ardal shaking as he vomited into a basin, Ardal lying insensible on the bed while I tried to see if his chest was still rising and falling. “He won’t die if I have anything to do with it.”

I turned my back and walked away, striding fast. I did not slow until I was sure I had gone beyond sight of the men. My heart was pounding. I breathed deeply and tried to calm myself. This was ridiculous. A druid was serene and composed, striving for wisdom every moment of every day. A single ill-considered remark should not have the power to upset me so much.

The tracks at this eastern end of Inis Eala were little more than goat paths, narrow and uneven. At some distance ahead there loomed a great rocky outcrop surrounded by grazing sheep. In fact, the rock formation did somewhat resemble an enormous ram. I imagined him as a guardian spirit, watching over these ewes as they ate their breakfast, and the thought made me smile.

By the time I reached the rocks I was tired. I would sit here a moment, drink some water from the skin I had brought, then go back to the settlement. I had already been away from the infirmary too long.

Gazing over toward the sea as I drank, I saw something unusual in this stark landscape: a pair of small trees side by side not far from the cliff’s edge. They were of no kind I recognized, and that in itself was surprising, for a druid knows trees. These bore needles of a dark gray-green, and their branches were gnarled and knotted like the fingers of an old man. When I walked over to examine them more closely, I saw a path leading down the cliff to the shore below. And there on the sand, a still figure in his dark cloak, was my brother-in-law Cathal.

He was alone. He had not seen me. I imagined, if he had come to this out-of-the-way place so early in the day, he did not want company. But I stayed where I was, watching him, unable to make myself move away.

Cathal was facing the sea, his arms outstretched, palms toward the water. The expression on his face was one of deepest concentration; he looked to be in another world. Every part of his stance told me he was casting a spell. I watched in wonder. Cathal never used his skills in magic on Inis Eala. He had come here to be a man among men. He had come here to forget he was Mac Dara’s son. And yet, here before me, his father’s legacy was on full display.

The sea stilled. Where only moments earlier the cove had been alive with the wash of waves rolling in and breaking into shivering lace, now the water lay quiet under the morning sky, tranquil as a lake, safe enough for a tiny child to play in. Not the least ripple stirred. I held my breath. I had never seen anything like this. Surely not even Ciarán could perform such a feat.

Cathal’s arms came down to his sides, and he brought his hands up before him, moving them in a sequence too complex for me to follow. The sea stirred; waves arose once more, coming in to crash each in its turn onto the pale sand. A gull came down and landed beside Cathal, followed by another. Now they were coming in their dozens, alighting on the sand all around him, two on his shoulders, one perched on his dark head, until they formed a gathering of twice fifty or more. For a moment I wondered why it seemed so odd, and then I realized the birds were completely silent: no calling, no squawking, no sound at all. Cathal lifted his arms, and the flock arose as one, winging away to the east.

I should leave. Either that or I should let Cathal know he had an audience. I opened my mouth to call, but before I could say a word he turned and looked straight up at me. A moment later he was headed up the path.

“I’m sorry,” I said as he came up to me. “I was out walking and happened to see you. I didn’t think—”

“That I practiced these arts anymore? I have not done so for some time, Sibeal. It always seemed best not to do anything that might attract my father’s attention. The ward over the island should keep us from his notice, but one can never be completely sure of it. All changes in time. It is perilous to forget that.” Cathal hesitated, giving me a penetrating look. “May I speak further, Sibeal? You have plenty to trouble you just now, I know, but . . . ”

“Of course. I understand this is in confidence. Such matters are not for spreading abroad.”

Cathal nodded. “Shall we walk back?” And as we headed off side by side, “I have begun to practice, yes. Since the wreck . . . I hope I never face such a choice again, Sibeal. I know I could have helped those folk, saved lives, and yet I did not act for fear of endangering my own dear ones. No wonder . . . no wonder my dreams have been troubling. What I have seen . . . It seems important to be sure I can still exercise certain special skills. Indeed, I must work to sharpen them.” He was looking particularly grave.

“You spoke of dreams, Cathal. What kind of dreams?”

“The same dream has visited me every night since the ship foundered on our reef. It is intense, mysterious, less like a dream than a vision. There is a storm in it, and voices screaming. It’s dark. Full of violence and disruption. I wake with a sense of urgency, but I cannot understand why.”

My own nights had been visited by images of storm and disquiet, something akin to the scrying visions of those first days. My charcoal runes had not been effective long. “I wonder what it was that came to Inis Eala the day
Freyja
foundered,” I mused. “Two men and a woman, certainly. And something more.”

“Even before the wreck, I had begun practicing my craft again. Clodagh knows; nobody else. Our child will be born soon. I will need every weapon I have to keep him safe.”

“Him?”

“I pray that it will be a girl, for then Mac Dara’s interest will not be so strong. But I sense that we will have a son. I would do anything, anything at all to ensure my father does not come near our child. If I must counter his magic with magic of my own, I will do it.” A shiver went through his tall frame. “But I hope it will not come to that.”

“Have you visited the scrying pool, Cathal?” I asked with some hesitation. “That could provide you with some clarity.” With his particular gifts, scrying could indeed provide a window on the future. Whether he would want to look through that window was another matter. I knew that if I had been able to see plain truth in the water, as Cathal could, I might well turn away from scrying altogether.

“I am too much of a coward for that,” he said. “Besides, the questions I would want to ask fall outside accepted practice—they are too close to my own interests. For now I will simply wait, and hone my skills, and hope. If the dreams persist I will seek your advice again.”

Cathal walked back with me; if the house builders saw us, perhaps Knut thought that more appropriate than a young woman going out on her own. His odd remark had made me wonder again about Svala and that odd scene at the cove. She had seemed almost a different person when her husband was not close at hand. I must seek her out some time; try again to reach her. But not until Ardal recovered.

“The yellow flag’s up,” Cathal said as we crested a rise.

“Yellow flag? What flag?”

“In the settlement on the mainland. Over there, look.”

In the distance, to the south, I could make out the bright pennant flying above a rooftop on the far shore. Among the small fishing vessels moored at the mainland jetty a larger boat stood out, one that had not been there yesterday.

“It means the Connacht men have arrived,” Cathal said. “Someone will go over and fetch them later. We don’t allow visitors to come straight to Inis Eala. Clem checks that everything’s in order before he hoists the signal. The combat display will be tomorrow.”

“I should think I’ll miss it. I’ll be needed in the infirmary.”

A silence. When I glanced at him, Cathal gave an odd little smile. “Attached to this fellow Ardal, aren’t you?”

“Attached. What does that mean?”

“You’re fond of him.”

“I did pull him out of the sea, more or less.”

“Johnny pulled Knut out of the sea. There’s no special fondness there, though Knut has certainly become well-liked.”

“It’s not quite the same, Cathal. What exactly are you trying to tell me?”

He sighed. “Nothing, Sibeal. I’m hoping you may be able to spare a little time for Clodagh, that’s all. She had great hopes of your visit, but she’s seen little of you. She misses her family, Deirdre in particular. And, from what I hear, Ardal is getting expert attention from our three healers. Clodagh might appreciate your company for the combat display in particular. She gets anxious when I’m involved in such things, especially now, while she’s carrying the child.”

“I’m sorry. I’ve been selfish. Of course I’ll be there.”

“Selfish? No, Sibeal, quite the opposite. Think of this as a personal favor I’m asking. I love my wife. I want her to be happy. That is why I . . . ”

That is why I practice magic, even when in the longer term it may endanger those I love best.

“I know, Cathal,” I said.

I spent the rest of the day in the infirmary. Ardal seemed to be holding his own, and at one point even whispered in Irish, “Thank you, Sibeal.” This brought tears flooding to my eyes, and I saw Muirrin looking at me oddly. When Gull finally ordered me off to bed, I retreated to my chamber and a restless sleep in which the same dreams returned: mountainous seas, impossible cliffs, screams, blood, darkness.

In the morning, after a noisy breakfast in the dining hall—the Connacht men swelled the number of warriors, filling the place, and everyone seemed to be talking at once—all I wanted to do was spend the day by Ardal’s side. Perhaps he would say more today. Perhaps he would start to talk to me properly. But I had made a promise, so I sought out Clodagh in the cramped space she and Cathal shared in the married quarters. My sister was rummaging through a storage chest.