Seer of Sevenwaters (29 page)

“I had a strange encounter with Svala today and I was just thinking . . . I was wondering if Rodan might ever have tried to . . . ”

Brenna looked at Clodagh who said, “Anyone who made advances to Svala would have Knut to contend with. Everyone’s seen how Knut can fight. And everyone knows he’s very proud of his handsome wife, unusual woman that she is. According to Cathal, Knut talks about her in a way that makes some of the men quite jealous. He almost brags about her.”

“She’s the kind of woman men lust after,” Brenna said. “What fellow’s going to care if she’s a few stalks short of the full haystack, when she’s built like the goddess of love?”

“Sibeal,” said Muirrin, “you can’t be suggesting Knut had something to do with Rodan’s death.”

“Not exactly, but—”

“Even if Rodan did take advantage of Svala,” said Clodagh, “and I don’t suppose we’ll ever know if that’s so, Knut couldn’t be responsible for his death. Rodan went missing during the morning’s combat session. Knut was present the entire time.”

But Svala wasn’t
. My mind showed me that magnificent figure on the cliff’s edge, spreading her arms to the wind, hair like a wild banner, eyes bright with . . . vindication? It was all too easy to reshape that scene into one where Rodan, drawn to the place by desire for a woman who was, without a doubt, the best prize on the island, met her, embraced her, felt the sudden pressure of her strong hands and found himself falling, falling to oblivion on the rocks below.

“What are you thinking, Sibeal?”

I would not say it. There was no proof. Svala was mute and Rodan was dead. We would never know what had happened. That did not stop my mind from showing me Svala with her arms around Rodan, offering him her mouth. An instant’s distraction, that’s all it would have taken, and he would have been over the edge. I remembered the day when she had shared her fish, and the moment when I had thought she was going to drown me. “I’m thinking about Svala,” I said. “I spent some time with her this morning, at the seer’s cave, and she told me a very strange story.”

“Told you?” said Clodagh. “You mean she finally spoke?”

“Not told in words. She showed me, in a vision.” I had not intended to tell them the story but suddenly I needed to get it out. Rodan was gone; it was too late for his tale to be told. That made it all the more important to share the other, stranger story. “In the cave, with Svala, I believe I saw images that came from her mind, not mine,” I told them. “I couldn’t tell if it was a true vision of something that had happened to her or more of a . . . myth. It was frightening. And odd, almost like a dream. Svala became quite distraught when I didn’t understand properly. One thing I am sure of: she’s desperate to leave Inis Eala. She wants to go home. And home seems to be . . . somewhere impossible.”

“Tell us,” Brenna said, moving closer.

I related the tale as best I could: the brutal storm, the stark rocky island, the cliffs, the narrow passage. The relief on coming through to safe water, and then the monster. “A sea serpent or water dragon,” I said. “It reared out of the waves and put its claw right through a man’s chest. I wonder now if it was there earlier, harrying the ship forward through the gap so the men would be trapped in the bay.”

My audience of three had been captured by the dramatic tale.

“You mean it was . . .
fishing
.” Brenna’s tone was hushed.

“Sibeal, it sounds more like an old tale than anything,” said Clodagh. “I can imagine such a story as part of the adventures of Cú Chulainn or another hero. You’re sure this ship was the same one that was wrecked on the reef here? The one that brought Svala and Knut to Inis Eala?”

“I think so. A substantial ship, with a hold for cargo and the capacity to go by sail or oars.” I wished now that I had paid more attention to details. “But they weren’t under sail. There were men rowing, a lot of men. Knut was one of them. When the storm drove them close to the rocks they panicked and lost control. Ardal’s brother—the man I think was his brother—kept his head and started shouting orders. He maneuvered them through the gap. After the monster attacked he managed to get them in to shore.”

“And then what?” asked Clodagh with some eagerness.

“I don’t know. It finished there. A vision doesn’t always show the whole story, or even the true story.”

Muirrin had listened in silence. A frown of concentration creased her brow. “And Svala showed you this,” she said.

“I don’t know whether she has the ability to scry and to share her vision. Perhaps the feelings she had pent up inside her were so powerful that they took control over what appeared in the water. I’m certain those images came from her.”

“I thought she was sad because of what she lost when the ship foundered,” Brenna said. “Her child in particular.”

“You mentioned Knut and Ardal,” Muirrin said. “What about her? Was Svala in the vision?”

“I didn’t see her. But it was a big ship. I suppose the women and children might have been down in the hold for safety.” I could hardly imagine how terrifying that would be, below deck, buffeted by wind and waves, listening to the men’s panicked screams as they lost control of the oars.

“If she’d been in the hold she wouldn’t have seen what happened,” Clodagh pointed out.

“True. But visions don’t usually show a picture of something just as it was. They are not the same as memories. Perhaps that was what she thought I needed to see.”

“What did you mean, Sibeal, about Svala wanting to go home?” asked Muirrin. “What has that to do with this vision?”

“She couldn’t tell me, of course. But I felt what was in her heart.” The power of Svala’s yearning was still with me. “She wants to go back to that place. I’m sure she was trying to tell me that inhospitable island is home.”

There was a lengthy silence.

“That’s crazy,” Brenna said eventually. “It makes no sense. Who’d live out in the middle of the ocean on a rock? With sea monsters on the doorstep?”

“It seems unlikely,” said Clodagh. “The ship came from Ulfricsfjord, headed for the Orcades. That’s a well-traveled sea path. Traders use it all the time. If such an island lay between Ulfricsfjord and the north coast of Erin, we’d know about it. If a giant sea serpent lurked there, there’d be a hundred tales of it.”

I was starting to think I should have talked to Johnny before I aired any of this before others, even if those others were the trusted women of my family. “What if they were not going to the Orcades when the ship hit our reef,” I suggested, “but coming back?”

Everyone looked at me as they digested this.

“You mean Knut lied to Johnny?” Clodagh said, brows up.

“Svala was quite sure the island lay due north of here. It isn’t between Ulfricsfjord and Inis Eala.”

“Why lie about something like that?” asked Brenna. “A storm, a monster, nearly losing the ship—Knut would have spilled out everything.”

I was still considering sea paths. “There’s another possibility. If they were heading to the Orcades and had already traveled quite a distance to the northeast, past Dalriada, and were driven off course by the storm, they could have ended up due north of here. Perhaps the ship was damaged. Perhaps they lost so many men they gave up the original plan. They might have turned back and made for the nearest land. That would have brought them straight to Inis Eala.”

There was something uncomfortable about the silence that followed. I guessed what Muirrin was going to say before she came out with it.

“Sibeal, this is conjecture. For Knut to lie about something so significant seems extraordinary. Besides, if he and Svala lived on a lonely isle all by themselves, what was he doing on the crew of a vessel heading out of an Irish port and bound for the Orcades? Given his account and this one, side by side, there’s no doubt at all which people would believe.” She was scrutinizing me closely. “You’re close to Ardal, I know. Have you told him this story?”

I was annoyed to feel my cheeks flaming. “No. I was on my way back from the cave when Clodagh called me to join you in the kitchen. The only person I’ve seen since Svala showed me the vision—apart from you—is Knut, and I said nothing about it to him. Muirrin, you can’t be suggesting I’d alter the facts so Ardal’s story will be more credible than Knut’s when it finally comes out.” I was hurt and dismayed. I deeply regretted sharing the vision with them. I should have learned by now that such insights are best kept to oneself. “Besides, this is Svala’s story, not Ardal’s. As far as I know he still can’t remember anything about all this.”

“As far as you know?” Brenna asked, glancing from me to my sisters and back again a little nervously. It was unusual for us to argue.

“I think perhaps he’s remembered more than he’s told,” I said. “But he won’t talk about it. All he cares about now is getting strong again, so he can leave.”

Another charged silence.

“Which is exactly what Johnny wants, isn’t it?” I added, as misery crept over me despite my best efforts to withstand it.

After a while, Clodagh said gently, “He was always going to leave, Sibeal, as soon as he was well enough.”

“And so are you,” said Muirrin. “Best if you step back from it all, Sibeal. That’s what we believe. You saved his life. That was a remarkable act of bravery. I know you care about him. But Ardal’s a grown man. He will survive without your protection.” When I did not respond, she added, “Sibeal, of course I don’t believe you would alter the facts. But you’ve told me yourself how hard it is to interpret visions, and how their meaning is often something quite different from the images you see. And Svala is hardly the most reliable of guides in these matters.”

I sank into silence, wishing profoundly that I had kept the tale for Ardal to hear first.

They continued to talk, moving from the voyage to other matters. After a while Biddy and Flidais came out to join us and I remembered, belatedly, why we were gathered together. I sat beside Brenna as the other women chatted about their children, their daily work, their men. Muirrin’s comments were still there, nudging at my mind, unable to be forgotten. I set myself a test: while the others made guesses as to whether Clodagh and Muirrin would produce sons or daughters, I imagined myself in a situation like Brenna’s. Brenna was telling a story now: how Sam had been playing with little Fergal, and had kicked a ball so hard it sent a line of washing straight into the mud. Even as she related how she’d scolded Sam and made him and Fergal pick up the clothes, her voice was warm with love, her laughter soft with tenderness.

My mind conjured up a pleasing image: there was I, firelight warming my face as I sat by the hearth. I was carving Ogham signs on birch sticks. On a table were an ink pot, quills in a jar, a sheet of parchment. A young man sat there writing. Chestnut hair over his shoulders; eyes like deep water under evening sky. A thin, strong-jawed face, a straight nose, a generous mouth. Ardal. And on the mat before the fire, an infant in a smock. The child had a crop of wispy dark hair. It sat with its legs stuck out, and between them lay a small pile of rune rods. In my imagination, the infant selected one, waved it about, then dropped it and chose another. And another.
Os
,
Ger
,
Nyd
. The child looked up at me, beaming with delight at its cleverness, and its eyes were of the palest blue-gray, so light as to be almost colorless. Like Finbar’s. Like mine.

Look, Sibeal
, said Ardal in the daydream.
She’s chosen the same runes you were shown in that very first augury, after you saved my life
. I turned toward him, smiling, and saw that beyond the open shutters lay, not the stark open spaces of Inis Eala, but the myriad greens of a great forest.
Another druid in the making
, Ardal said.

Sudden tears sprang to my eyes, startling me. That had felt real. It had felt true. My heart ached for it; my body was full of a mindless longing. What was wrong with me? I knew it would never happen.
You thought you’d never give up your vocation
, a voice whispered inside me.
You thought you’d never even consider it. But you’ve met the one man who could change your mind. He is your perfect complement. He is Cathal to your Clodagh; he is Bran to your Liadan. No wonder you conjured up those images. No wonder they make you weep.

This would not do. It could not be so. I would not allow myself the indulgence of such fantasies again. I would banish them from my mind. For my commitment was already made, if not formally until I spoke the words of my pledge, then most certainly in my inner heart. Who could deny the call of the gods? I had known my path since I was a child not much bigger than that little girl, my daughter who would never be born.

Later in the afternoon I left my sisters and returned to the infirmary, only to find that Ardal had gone out walking with Gull.

“They were heading toward the place of the boat burial,” Evan said. “I don’t imagine Ardal will get all the way there, even with support, but he insisted on trying.” I took my cloak back off the peg where I had hung it, intending to follow them. “They’re probably best on their own, Sibeal,” my brother-in-law said quietly. “Ardal’s had a long time of looking weak in front of you. That sort of thing is shaming for most men, especially when the woman is someone he cares about.”

“But—” I was stunned by this. Ardal had not seemed to mind my seeing his weakness in those early days, and he’d been ready enough to talk and to listen. But I could not discount Evan’s words. This was a man’s insight, something I would not have thought of myself. The treacherous image of earlier came back to me as I retreated to my chamber: that impossible future in which I was Ardal’s wife and the mother of his child. Just thinking of it, I could feel his arms around me, his fingers stroking my hair. All the sweet things he had said to me whispered through my mind, a gentle spring breeze across a harsh winter landscape. Inside me I felt something unfurl with tentative grace, reaching for the light.

I prayed. I sought wisdom in the voices of the gods. I murmured my way through passages of lore. I studied the charcoal runes I had marked on the walls that first day, before I knew Ardal existed. I watched the shadows lengthen.