Seer of Sevenwaters (40 page)

Whatever I had expected, it was not this. “If I ask questions about the voyage now, will you answer them?”

She simply looked at me. I could see she had been crying.

“I’ve been thinking perhaps he feels he should come with us, out of the same kind of family obligation that made Gull volunteer,” I said. “I did wonder if you were upset that night because Gull put his hand up, and you thought that meant Cathal would be next. I understand all the reasons why he shouldn’t come, Clodagh. I’d never suggest he leave the island, even though he has some abilities that could make all the difference out there. Nobody expects him to risk his whole future on another man’s mission.”

Clodagh grimaced. “Isn’t that what everyone in the crew will be doing?”

“You could put it that way, yes. But nobody else has Mac Dara to contend with.”

“You think we’ve been fighting because he wants to go and I’m trying to stop him,” she said.

“The two of you have been looking somewhat tense for the last few days. That seemed to me the most likely explanation. You should have talked to me sooner, Clodagh. It’s my job to help when things are difficult.”

“I’m not consulting you as a spiritual adviser, Sibeal.” She gave a crooked smile. “I’m talking to you as my sister. You’re wrong about this. Certainly, Cathal understands that his presence could be immensely helpful on the voyage. Indeed, if he’d volunteered at the start it could have saved Gareth from needing to go, since Cathal could have led the expedition. But he says he won’t go. He’s not afraid for himself. He can’t bear the thought of me and the child left on our own, at Mac Dara’s mercy, should anything happen to him.”

My hands went on folding and packing away, while my mind reeled in shock. “You’re saying that Cathal doesn’t want to go, and that
you
want him to do it?”

“I want you to be as safe as you can be,” my sister said quietly. “Believe me, I’m horrified at the thought of his going. Ask any of the women how she feels about her man risking his life on this venture, and she’ll tell you she wishes your wretched Felix had never come to the island to spark the men’s imagination with his crazy rescue mission. Ask her what she thinks of her man’s choice to be part of it, and she’ll tell you she’s so proud of him her heart might burst with it. That’s all part of loving a man, Sibeal, something you’ll never really understand. Of course I don’t want Cathal to go. I want him here, safe. I want him to be able to hold his baby on the day it’s born. But I believe he needs to go. I know the crew are experienced, brave, strong, able to deal with all manner of crises. But they can’t do what Cathal can. None of them has any ability in magic. If Mac Dara
is
involved, the rest of you will have no protection at all. I don’t want you to go, Sibeal. You’re my little sister. I don’t want Gull to go, though I hate the idea of Evan going even more—that would be too cruel for Muirrin. But it’s decided, and you’re going. If Cathal is with you, at least I’ll know I’ve done everything I can to keep you safe.”

My eyes were suddenly full of tears. It was the most selfless decision I could imagine, and typical of Clodagh.

“Don’t cry, Sibeal,” my sister said. “Go and find him. Tell him I really mean it. Tell him you believe I will be safe until he gets home. Women have babies all the time. And Mac Dara can’t reach me here.”

No, but he will be able to reach Cathal the moment we sail out of the bay.
“Are you sure?”

“I’m quite sure. We’re fettered by our fear of Mac Dara. His influence governs our every thought. We’ve talked about it, and we both feel the same. It’s wrong. It’s letting Mac Dara win. We’ve gone over and over it, and now Cathal’s in such a state of guilt and confusion that he won’t listen to me anymore. I think he’ll listen to you.”

Gods, this was fraught with peril. If I managed to persuade him, and then he was killed . . . If he came with us and failed to protect me from harm . . . If we both sailed away, and came home to find that Clodagh had died in childbirth . . .

“Go now, please, Sibeal,” Clodagh said. “I’ll finish your packing. I can fit twice as much in that bag. It’s all in the folding.”

It was late in the day, and the seer’s cave was full of soft light: violet, lavender, gray. Shades of sadness. Cathal had spread out his cloak and was sitting on it, not scrying, simply gazing straight ahead of him. On his troubled features I saw the shadow of a far older man.

I sat down at a little distance.

“Clodagh sent you,” he said after a while.

“She asked me to talk to you, yes. I wish she’d done so somewhat earlier. My chances of changing your mind are not great, one day before we leave.”

“True. I can’t imagine why she thought you could do what she cannot.”

Cathal’s tone was scathing. I was tempted to get up and walk out, but I swallowed my annoyance.
You’ll never really understand
, Clodagh had said. I must use what limited understanding I had to reach him. I owed it to her.

“You know, I suppose, how much courage it has taken for Clodagh to decide that you should go,” I said.

“I don’t need to hear this.”

I drew a deep breath. “You will hear it, Cathal. That choice is based on love; nothing more, nothing less. She’s putting her own wishes aside to do what’s right for everyone she cares about. Me, you, Gull, Johnny, your child yet unborn. Love will govern Clodagh’s choices, always. That’s the woman you married. If you do as she asks, you honor the woman she is.”

He did not so much as blink an eyelid. I might as well not have been there.

“Besides,” I said, “deep down you’re like all the other warriors. Their hearts were captured by this mission: loyalty beyond terror, survival beyond endurance. Don’t tell me part of you isn’t longing to rush to those men’s rescue.”

I thought he might turn on me in a fury after that; his face was full of darkness. I sat quietly, watching the still water. I waited. The silence drew on and on.

“Sibeal,” said Cathal, and his voice was not angry at all, but sounded more as if he were choking back tears, “how can this be the right choice for our child?”

“You ask the most difficult of all the questions. Clodagh believes that to stay here, to remain forever within the safe margin, is allowing Mac Dara to govern your existence. Keeping out of your father’s reach is living in a kind of prison. That’s what she implied. A druid might debate that issue at considerable length and not reach a conclusion one way or another. But that is the pattern of Clodagh’s thinking, and who is to say she’s wrong?”

“We’ve talked about this already. Endlessly. We’ve gone through all the arguments.”

“She says that at a certain point you stopped listening to her.”

Cathal picked up a handful of small stones and threw them into the pool with some violence. The calm surface shivered under the impact. “What she wants feels wrong,” he said. “How can I leave them? But it also feels right. There is indeed a part of me that wants to go. I cannot make a choice. I came here to scry one last time before
Liadan
sails, and I can’t do it, Sibeal. I came prepared with several appropriate questions relating to the likelihood of Otherworld interference on the journey. But Clodagh and the child fill all my thoughts. Sibeal, how can I go away? The baby might be born any day now.”

“If your mind is made up, why are you here?”

He glanced at me. “You’re a druid today,” he said, making it sound like something bad.

“I only ask the questions that must be asked. Does Gareth know there’s a possibility you may go? Does Johnny?”

“I suppose my state of mind has been easy to read, these last days. I was relieved of responsibility for training the Connacht men soon after the crew was named, even though my name was not on the list.” He thought for a moment, then added, “Sibeal, I understand that much of druidic lore and teaching is secret. It would help me if you could explain the extent of your own abilities. I know Ciarán has a certain facility with magic, born as much of his lineage as of his druidic training. I know he is your mentor. And Felix said you did something with the fire, that night when Knut attacked him.”

“I have learned the rudiments of natural magic. I’m a beginner, Cathal. I might be able to make a fire flare up, or conjure a momentary breeze. No more than that. I would not be much help to you, though of course I would try. I do have the ear of the gods.” Of recent times there had been some cause to doubt that
.
“And the ability to find answers to problems. We’re trained to do so.”

“You have much more,” Cathal said, “for it seems you can hear Svala’s voice, a voice silent to the rest of us. For that alone, your presence on the voyage must be of great value.”

“I believe each of us will have a part to play: Felix, Gull, Gareth, every other person on board. That includes me, though what my part will be, I don’t know. I suppose I’ll find out on the way.”

“I understand that I, too, may have a part to play. I know that if I stay behind, the loss of that part may doom the mission.”

“You must weigh that up in making your choice.”

“I hear the voice of a wise old woman coming from the lips of a lovely young girl,” Cathal said, “and it makes me feel sad. I’m not sure why. Oh, for some certainty, Sibeal. Oh, for a promise that we would return safely, all of us, and that those we leave behind would be safe as well.”

“We cannot know the future. All we can do is face it bravely. We should take heed of those we love and respect. But in the end, we make every decision alone.”

When he did not reply, I rose to my feet. Cathal was not looking at me. He had his head bowed, his hands linked on his knees.

“Tell Clodagh I’ll be back before sunset,” he said. “I should thank you, I suppose. I find I cannot bring myself to do so, not yet. I acknowledge your honesty, Sibeal.”

“I need no further thanks than that,” I said.

The scene I had created in my mind for Svala became reality. We stood on the jetty in the morning, those who were leaving, those who were saying farewell. The real goodbyes had been made in private, behind closed doors, and perhaps there had been tears, or anger, or some bitterness. Here, on the jetty, every face was as brave as the banner that flew from
Liadan
’s masthead. The supplies had been loaded the day before, foodstuffs, fresh water, materials to mend the boat, the wherewithal to make a rudimentary camp should it be necessary to linger on the serpent isle or elsewhere. Weaponry. The means to make fire. Space had been left for our personal items: one small bag apiece. There would be no washing, no changing clothing, no privacy at all for the performance of bodily functions. I imagined I might hold up a shawl, down in the rocking hold, while Svala used the bucket, and she might return the favor. It was the best we could hope for.

Since the night when Felix told his story, Knut had been forbidden to approach Svala. It was easy enough to ensure they stayed apart on the island, but within the cramped confines of the boat it would be impossible to maintain a distance. Svala would stay in the hold for most of the time, with me, Gull and Felix. It was understood that the crew would sail the boat, and the passengers would keep out of the way. But everyone needed to rest, which meant all the men, Knut included, would be in the hold sleeping at one time or another. Gareth had asked me to keep an eye on Svala; to make sure she did not grow too agitated.

She stood on the jetty now, still and silent amid the noisy crowd, gazing out to sea. She had no luggage with her.

“Ready, Sibeal?” Gull was beside me, his bundle under one arm. A larger bag containing his healer’s items was already stowed in the hold. Behind him stood Biddy, a well-controlled smile on her face.

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” I said. “But I’ll wait until everyone’s on board. Johnny wants me to say a prayer for a safe journey.”

“Here, I’ll take your bag.”

“I will.” There was Felix, back straight, head high, pale as a winter morning. He sounded as if he was speaking through clenched teeth. I felt his terror deep in my bones.
The wave coming . . . Paul’s eyes widening . . . a great rumbling sound like cart wheels . . .
It was the first time he had set foot on a boat since the shipwreck. In all of Gull’s rigorous training, they had not prepared for this.

“Thank you,” I said, passing him the bag. “One step at a time. And remember, Paul is right beside you.”

I watched them board, all of them. When Knut walked past her, his face stony, his fingers nervously twisting his amulet on its cord, Svala cringed. The light left her eyes. A familiar shuttered look came over her features. Then Gareth, who was already on board, reached out a hand to help her down onto the deck. She ignored him, stepping over lightly on her own.

I watched the faces of those left behind, wives and lovers, children, parents, comrades. The loss would indeed be great if our expedition came to grief. How hard it must be for a woman to live in a place like this, where every season might bring another farewell. How hard to be a warrior, torn between the heart-stirring mission and the love of home and family.

“Sibeal?” Clodagh was beside me, holding out another bag. “I’ve packed this for Svala. It has practical items, the things she probably wouldn’t think of for herself.” Her freckles were stark against the white skin; her eyes were pink-rimmed. Like Biddy, she wore a smile.

“Thank you.” I was looking around for Cathal when something crashed into my legs, almost toppling me. Fang bolted along the jetty, coming to a sudden halt at the spot where Felix had just stepped over onto the boat. The dog’s voice arose, silencing all others with its shrill howl of woe. Clodagh’s smile faded, and so did Biddy’s.

“Morrigan’s britches, what’s got into you?” Snake strode forward; the crowd parted for him. He reached to pick up the little dog, but the anguished crying went on. Fang was in a frenzy, trying to do everything at once: bite Snake’s hand, leap off the jetty onto the boat, scream her confusion to the world.

“It’s Felix,” I said, coming closer and wondering why, all of a sudden, I was on the verge of weeping. “She wants to be in two places at once: with you, here, and on the boat with him. Let her say goodbye, Snake, and perhaps she’ll quieten down.”