Seer of Sevenwaters (24 page)

“If you’re going to be here, Sibeal,” my sister said, “you can find me some bandages. I anticipate a few more cuts and bruises this morning. The Connacht men may be shaping up well, but they don’t have our men’s experience.”

“I can’t stay,” I said. “I wish I could. I’ve promised to be with Clodagh for the morning. Isn’t there someone else to help you?”

“Later, yes. This morning every woman on the island will be at the bouts. Never mind, I can cope.” She moved across to tend to the fire.

“Sibeal, be careful,” Ardal whispered.

“What do you mean?” I was whispering, too, leaning close. “Careful of what?” It wouldn’t be me out there with a sword in my hand this morning.

“Don’t go out walking on your own.” His eyes were full of trouble. “Please.”

This again? What on earth had Knut said to him? “Ardal, I go walking on my own every single day. Not only do I possess sound common sense, but I go under the protection of the gods.”

“Please, Sibeal. Please do as I ask.”

“I thought you said you were needed elsewhere.” Muirrin came back over, wiping her hands on a cloth.

Ardal released my hand, and I rose to my feet. “I’ll be fine,” I told him. “I know how to look after myself.” In the back of my mind was the vision, a man plunging off the cliff path and down to oblivion. “I’ll come back as soon as the bouts are over.”

“Are you all right, Sibeal?” Muirrin had realized all was not well with me, and now came across to put her hand against my brow and examine my face with narrowed eyes. “Don’t tell me you’ve been having nightmares, too.”

“You mean you have? What kind of nightmares?”

Muirrin grimaced. “Healers’ nightmares. You can probably imagine. I don’t usually dream much. Evan and I tend to be so tired we sleep like logs, and if we dream, we don’t remember it. These last few nights have been difficult. You’d better go, Sibeal. You’re right, the best place for you today is with Clodagh.”

With a great effort of will and some well-learned techniques, I managed to show Clodagh a smiling face. When it was time for the bouts I took my seat next to her, with Alba on my other side. Until this was all over, I would concentrate on nothing but the excellent combat skills on display. I would not think of that vision of violent death. I would not think of ill luck. I would forget the venom that had filled the air when I walked into the infirmary earlier, hinting at a story neither Knut nor Ardal had yet told us.

The Connacht men had shown good judgment in their challenges. Most pairs of combatants were well matched, and Johnny’s call of “Cease!” came more commonly with two men still on their feet and fighting, rather than with one sprawled on the ground or forcibly relieved of his weapon. While each bout was carried out with fierce intensity, the whole thing was conducted in an atmosphere of goodwill, the crowd shouting encouragement even-handedly—that was, at the tops of their voices, whether it was a Connacht man or one of their own—and offering congratulations at the end in the same manner. The place was packed, with a press of folk standing at the back behind the seats.

There were ten bouts in all, each of them a display of rare skill and, in some cases, something approaching grace. I noted again Jouko’s lightness on his feet and Niall’s ability to stand as strong as an ox against blows that would have felled another fighter. I admired the speed and balance of the Connacht man who had spoken to me the night I had told a story after supper—what was his name? Brendan?—and learned that Kalev was as talented in unarmed combat as he was with the sword. Both Brendan and Kalev made a point of meeting my eye before and after their bouts, as if keen that I should take notice.
If my life had taken a different path, and I’d wanted a sweetheart,
I told them silently,
I wouldn’t be choosing a warrior, no matter how impressive his fighting skills.
For it came to me that to love a man whose livelihood placed him at constant risk might take quite a toll on a woman’s heart.

“Only one more to go before Cathal meets Knut,” Clodagh said, glancing across the crowd. Gull’s group was shifting to make room for Biddy, who had just come in. More folk were squeezing into the narrow space behind the benches. It seemed to me every man, woman and child on the island might be gathered here today. With one notable exception.

“I can’t see Svala,” said Flidais, who was sitting beyond Alba. “I know she keeps herself to herself, but surely she’ll come and watch her husband fight; it’s not exactly a run-of-the-mill challenge.”

Alba craned her neck. “Perhaps Knut hasn’t told her. Or maybe she thinks he’s been foolish. She wouldn’t be alone in that opinion.”

Clodagh and I exchanged a glance.

“Perhaps she doesn’t like fighting,” I said.

“A Norsewoman?” Alba’s brows went up. “She’d have been watching this kind of thing since she was an infant.”

Down in the combat area, an Inis Eala man was preparing for the next bout, checking his knife, tightening his belt, glancing at a young woman in the crowd, who responded with a cheerful wave. His face was decorated with a pattern resembling a badger’s mask. No sign of an opponent. After a little, Rat stood up and bellowed: “Rodan of Carna! Out there testing your charm on the ladies, are you?” A roar of appreciative laughter greeted this, though Rat’s demeanor was less than amiable; he looked mightily displeased. To be late showed a lack of self-discipline, a quality as essential to a warrior as it was to a druid. “Get your sorry self out here before I count to twenty or your match is forfeit!”

The crowd hushed. People looked around, expecting a sheepish Rodan to come running from whatever corner he was in. We waited. If Rat was indeed counting to twenty, he was doing it under his breath, and quite slowly.

“That fellow Rodan’s in trouble,” observed Alba. “Had to happen eventually. Suanach was saying he worked quite hard to talk himself into her bed, didn’t want to take no for an answer. Tried the same thing with Flidais, until she told him she was Rat’s wife. If anyone gets them all sent packing it’ll be him—I put my two coppers on it.”

“Fifteen! Sixteen!” yelled Rat. “Don’t test my patience any further, man!”

A man falling, falling away down . . . a rag doll tumbling through the air, russet hair streaming, limbs thrashing . . .

“Alba,” I said, as chill fingers wrapped themselves around my heart, “is Rodan a red-haired man?”

“That’s right, Sibeal. He’s the fellow I thought I liked. Huh! All that man wants is to get under a girl’s skirt, and he’s not too fussy about which girl it is.”

I was on my feet, my skin clammy with dread. “Clodagh, I’m sorry, I have to go,” I muttered, and elbowed my way through the crowd to the gateway as, behind me, Rat called Rodan’s name one last time. “Sorry, excuse me, feeling sick—”

I was out. What now? In my head the vision repeated itself, a man teetering on the cliff top, the fall, the long, long fall, the landing—oh gods, russet hair splashed with violent crimson—the screaming celebration of gulls.
Run, Sibeal! Run, run, you can reach him in time!
For why would I be shown this, if I had not the power to prevent it?

I ran, letting instinct guide me as it had when I found Ardal washed up in the cove. My feet followed their own path; I was not aware of choosing left or right, up or down. I ran until my chest was tight with pain and my knees were giving way under me. Out from the settlement, along the cliff path toward the point that housed Finbar’s cave, past one small bay, another, a third . . . Nearly there . . . Part of me, the part that still had room for logic, said I should have brought someone with me, one of the men, or at least should have told Clodagh where I was going and why. Should have told Johnny. Should have fetched a rope.
Don’t go out walking on your own . . .

Before I found the place, I heard the gulls and knew I had come too late. Ahead I could see the way around the northwest point, where the cave entry was concealed between rocks. On my left the hillside rose in a slope fit only for mountain goats. To my right, two strides from the path, earth gave way to sea in a dizzying drop. The place below was alive with squawks and screams. I halted, gasping for breath, my eyes and nose streaming. The cliff edge was jagged, slit by many narrow ravines; tufts of sharp-leaved grass grew here and there.

One step closer. Two steps. I peered over, my heart sounding a drumbeat of terror. I could see nothing but the darkness of the sea and the pale lacework of waves at the edge of the rocks. I backed up, lay down on my belly and wriggled forward until my head was over the edge.
A woman falling, falling . . . dark hair streaming upwards, mouth open in a silent shriek . . . Stop it, Sibeal. Do what must be done here.
I looked down and there was the substance of my vision, complete in every detail. Rodan had landed in the shape of the rune
Nyd
: defiance in the face of certain death. I inched back from the drop, got to my knees and retched up what little fluid was left in my stomach.

No time to give in to weakness. I must take stock of the place so others could locate it quickly. Johnny would want to retrieve the body. That would need to be arranged in haste, or the sea would rob that man of his chance to be laid to rest with due ritual. I could see no way down, but perhaps the men would find one.

I moved along the path, looking for anything out of place, and wondering what might have drawn a Connacht man all the way out here on the very day he was due to step up and demonstrate his skills. “What were you?” I mused. “Were you a Christian? Were you of the old faith? Perhaps you were a godless man.” I supposed I would be the one speaking prayers over Rodan before he was laid to rest. All I knew about him was that he had found it hard to take no for an answer.

I could see where he had gone over. In one place the earth beside the path had been disturbed, and toward the edge his feet had scored deep marks. I saw him losing his balance, flailing with his arms, desperate to keep safe purchase.
His feet slipping. His eyes wide. His mouth stretched in a last great cry. Nooooo . . .

“Gods be merciful to this man,” I murmured. “Manannán, I ask you not to take his remains, but to allow him burial here, under the gaze of his friends.” The news Johnny must send back to Connacht might be softened just a little if he could tell Rodan’s chieftain that we had buried him with dignity. “But if your waves must carry him away, I pray that they rock him gently, as if he were a child new-minted, sleeping in his cradle. Morrigan, Dark Lady, know that Rodan was a warrior, and far from home. Lead him safely through the final doorway. On his new journey, may he find peace.”

I had a square of linen in my pouch. This I placed on the path opposite the spot where Rodan had fallen. I weighted it with a stone. I took a deep, steadying breath, then headed back toward the settlement. I ran; not as fast as before, but as fast as I could manage. Before I had gone very far, I saw two tall men coming the other way: Gareth and Kalev, heading toward me at a purposeful jog.

“By all the gods, Sibeal,” Gareth observed as we met, “you run as fast as a deer. What is it, what’s happened?”

I sat down suddenly on the rocks. “You’ll find him just along there,” I said, wondering if the way everything was spinning around me meant I was about to faint, and feeling immensely grateful that I had not done so on the cliff’s edge. “Rodan. He’s dead. At the foot of the cliff. I marked the place.” I put my head in my hands. “As for running fast, I was not fast enough.”

Kalev went ahead to look, while Gareth waited with me, crouched down with his arm around my shoulders. Then Kalev ran back to the settlement with the news, and Gareth and I followed more slowly. He explained that Rodan’s body could be fetched up by men on ropes; they’d need to move quickly before the tide came in much further, but there should be time.

It was only after we had reached the settlement and Gareth had passed me into Clodagh’s care that I remembered Knut’s bout with Cathal.

“What happened?” I asked my sister, who was steering me toward the kitchen. “How did Knut acquit himself?”

“Amazingly well,” Clodagh said. “He lost, of course. In the end. But everyone was impressed. He’s a fighter of outstanding skill. The men gave Cathal a rousing cheer when he finally managed to divest Knut of his sword. But not as loud as the cheer Knut got. Everyone’s suggesting Johnny should offer him a place here if he wants it.”

People were going in and out of the dining hall, and I suspected there would be a press inside. “Clodagh, I would rather be somewhere quiet, on my own,” I said. “Can we go to the infirmary?”

“Later,” Clodagh said. “They’re busy in there. One of the Connacht men has a deep cut—a knife slipped—and his two friends seem determined not to leave his side until they’re sure Muirrin has given him the care he needs. Another man is having his ankle tended to.” She eyed me narrowly. “I’ll find you a quiet corner.”

“But—”

“No arguments, Sibeal. To be frank, you look terrible. Your face is a greenish color, and you’re shaking—look.” She took my hand and held it up before me. I could not keep it steady. “See? You can’t argue with that.”

Installed in a cozy nook close to the fire with Clodagh’s shawl around my shoulders and a cup of warm spiced ale between my hands, I sat quietly as people came and went. It was the usual practice to provide a hearty meal after a morning of bouts, but Rodan’s death had disturbed the pattern. There were plenty of folk in the hall, and most of them were eating, but the talk was in lowered voices and many of the familiar faces were absent. I saw Knut among a group of island warriors. They were talking quietly, sipping their ale, gesturing in a way that suggested perhaps they were discussing the morning’s combat. The Knut I saw now seemed unlike the man who had stood over Ardal this morning. Then, I had felt fury and terror spilling from the two of them. Now, exchanging easy banter with his comrades, Knut looked perfectly at home. He looked as if he belonged.

“Rat’s keeping the rest of the Connacht men over in the practice area for now,” Clodagh explained. “Johnny’s talking to them. And Gareth’s organizing the party to go and retrieve the body. This will be challenging for Johnny. It’s not the kind of news he’d want brought home from a stay on the island.”