Child of the Prophecy (69 page)

"I—I don't want you to get hurt." The little whisper escaped despite all my efforts at control. "If something happens to you it will be my fault, and I don't think I can bear that." I pressed my lips tight together to stop more foolish words from slipping out. His touch was very sweet, so sweet I might melt with it, I thought, and do something even more stupid such as put my two arms around him and hold on tight, to keep him by me. What had got into me, that I was suddenly so weak? I blinked, and stepped away.

"We should be going," I said with a lamentable effort at control. My voice shook like a birch in autumn. "I shouldn't have said that. Please, forget I said it." I walked on, cloak hugged tight around me. And Darragh walked by me, quiet, keeping pace with me step for step.

"Maybe you won't promise," he said after a while, "but I will. I promise I'll never leave you on your own. Not if you want me near. Just this one time, just this one campaign, because I gave Johnny my word. After that, things'll be different. I swear it, Fainne. You mustn't fear for me. I'll always be there when you need me. Always."

Was it accident, that a cloud came over the morning sun as he spoke that word? Was it chance that a great dark bird passed high above, cawing harshly as we made our way up to the settlement, now completely silent, the two of us?

It was very early; still, folk were abroad. Smoke rose from the cooking fire and there was a smell of fish frying, and fresh-baked bannocks. Men were carrying things down to the cove, purposeful and silent. By the outer wall Johnny sat on the stones, sharpening a knife, and there beside him perched a large raven. The creature turned its head to the side, and fixed its small, intense eye on me.

"Fiacha!" I exclaimed. My heart thumped. "Is my father here?" I asked, torn between fear and impossible hope.

"Just the bird," said Johnny, slipping the knife away in its sheath. "Mother said he'd likely be familiar to you, as he once was to me. Too long ago to remember; I was only an infant. Creature's here for some purpose; he follows me everywhere. Perhaps he's brought you a message."

"Unlikely. I've never found a method of communicating with a raven, and I don't think I want to. Fiacha has a sharp beak. I've cause to know it." My fingers moved instinctively to touch the place on my shoulder, under my gown, where the bird had pecked me long ago. It had hurt, and I had disliked him ever since. "What about Coll?" I made myself ask.

"Better," Johnny said casually. "Eating porridge, and grumbling when Mother says he must stay in bed."

There were plenty of things I could have said, as an immense tide of relief washed through me, but I held them back. What was the point?

Darragh was less circumspect. "Then you owe Fainne an apology, I think." He looked straight at Johnny with grim mouth and narrowed eyes; I had never seen such an expression on his face before.

"It's all right, Darragh," I said, laying a hand on his arm. "A reasonable mistake, under the circumstances."

"It's not all right." His voice was very firm. "You were distressed and frightened. It's far from all right. Your aunt should apologize, if Johnny will not."

"Unfortunately," Johnny said softly, "this proves nothing. Fainne is as adept at undoing these charms as she is at casting them. I've personal experience of that, friend. Now, as we're on this tack, tell me why you went to fetch her on your own instead of taking Godric with you? Don't you understand orders?"

Darragh reddened. I did not like to see him angry. He never used to be angry.

"Johnny," I said, stepping between them. "I've had no sleep, and nothing to eat since breakfast yesterday. I don't care what you think; I know what's the truth, and so does Darragh, and that must be good enough for us. I want to see Coll, and then I want to rest. And no doubt Darragh has work to do. Can we stop this, please?"

Johnny grinned, and glanced at Darragh. "Was she always like this?" he asked.

But Darragh was frowning, and did not reply. Instead, he turned and spoke to me, very quietly. "Will you be all right?"

I nodded, not trusting myself to reply. Then he was off without a word, and after a moment, Johnny followed him. The bird spread its

great, glossy wings and flew after, circling, now ahead, now behind. I hoped its bond with my father made it more friend than foe.

Coll was indeed better. He was sitting up in bed, still a little flushed, while Liadan adjusted the pillows.

"Fainne!" he exclaimed as I went in. Gull was there, packing a bag with items from the shelves, tincture and salve, ointment and unguent. He grinned at me, white teeth flashing against night-dark skin. His crippled hands moved deftly as he lifted tiny bottle or delicate bowl. "Where have you been?" Coll went on. His eyes were overbright; still, the change in him was remarkable.

"To the north point," I said, advancing to the bedside. Coll lay back; his mother smoothed the blanket across his chest. I looked at her, and she looked back calmly. There was no telling what she thought, but I did not see an apology in her eyes. "May I sit here a little?" I asked her.

Liadan inclined her head. "Very well, Fainne. Not too long." She got up and went to help Gull with his packing. They began a conversation about knife wounds, and whether vervain or all-heal provided the best protection against ill-humors.

"Did you really go all the way to the north point?" Coll asked. "By yourself? In the dark?"

"I did."

"Weren't you scared?"

"Why would I be scared?"

"You might have fallen over a cliff or broken your leg. And what about Uncle Finbar?"

"Don't talk so much," I told him sternly. "You've been very sick. You must rest and get better, so we can start our lessons again before you forget everything I've taught you."

Coll heaved a sigh. "Lessons! Maybe I will stay in bed after all. Fainne?"

"Mm?"

"They said you might be going away. Are you going away?"

I glanced over at Liadan. "I don't know, Coll," I said.

"Perhaps not quite yet." My aunt's tone was grave. "If you continue to make progress with your letters, we may keep her a little longer. Besides, I'm going to need help here."

"Good," said Coll sleepily. "I'm glad you're not leaving. It'll be

quiet as a tomb here when everyone's gone. Even Cormack's going." He closed his eyes.

Belatedly I came to a terrible realization. Men bearing bundles down to the cove. Gull packing medicines. Finbar saying there was no time.

"Aunt Liadan?" I asked in a shaking voice.

"What is it, Fainne?"

"The—the campaign. Isn't it supposed to be in summer?"

There was a delicate sort of silence. Then Gull spoke.

"The Chief sets great store by false intelligence," he said, tightening the lid on a small earthenware jar before he wrapped it in cloth and stowed it deep in the bag. "Summer's official. But we're ready to go any time, and it looks like the time's now."

"N—now? You mean—straight away? Today?" My heart quailed. That meant I must do it with no preparation, with no help whatever. It meant that before dusk I would have to watch Darragh get on one of those boats and sail away to battle.

"Tomorrow," Liadan said. "Tonight is for feasting and farewells. Bran would not go while Coll was in danger. But—"

"It's so early," I said, shivering. "So soon. I had not thought it would be so soon."

Liadan surprised me by coming over to sit beside me, and putting her arm around my shoulders.

"It gets no easier, saying goodbye to them," she said. "Each time is like a little death; each time one begs the gods, just one more chance, just one more. Men do not understand what it is like to wait. Women endure it because they must. It's the price of love. For you, I suppose this is the first such farewell."

"It's not like that with him and me," I said fiercely, for her kindness was somehow harder to bear than her disapproval. "He shouldn't go, that's all. He doesn't know what he's doing. At least these men, Johnny and Snake and the Chief, at least they are warriors. It's what they do. Darragh is—he's an innocent."

"Ah, yes." Liadan's hand came up to touch my hair, and to tidy it a little off my face. I expect I looked quite a sight, with bags under my eyes and curls all tangled by the wind. "You recognize that. Sometimes the innocent walk through a battlefield unscathed, Fainne. It is that very quality which protects them. We must hope all will be safe, and return victorious. Now, I think Coll should rest. You must be exhausted and hungry. Biddy and Annie were up early, and there's a fine breakfast waiting. Why not go through, and enjoy some food and good company, and then sleep awhile? You cannot change what will happen by fretting about it."

Gull had finished packing, and was strapping the bag up neatly.

"Have you ever gone with them?" I asked my aunt. "They must have desperate need of healers at such times."

"A field of war is no place for a woman. I would go, believe me; it's like a knife in the heart to have them out of my sight so long, and in danger. But Bran would not allow it. This is too perilous. Gull travels with them; he will tend to their injuries. Meanwhile, I will keep an eye on things here."

"Liadan?"

She looked at me, but I could not find the words for what I wanted to ask. She gave a little smile, a kind of recognition.

"Finbar tells me we've no choice but to trust you," she said. "If he can do that, I suppose I can. He has more reason to be afraid than I do. Now go on. And no long faces. We need to see these men on their way with smiles and confidence, not with tears. Those are for later, when we are alone."

I ate, but not much. There was a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. I slept, and was visited by dreams so evil I will not tell them here. I woke, and washed my face, and changed my clothes. I braided my hair neatly down my back. Then I went out and sat on the clifftop above the bay, and thought about birds. The weather was calm. The curraghs stood at anchor, ready to go. There were three large ones and many smaller, some well-laden with bags and bundles, some empty of cargo. There would be weapons, I supposed. Supplies. There must be some sort of camp on the way. I had no idea where, and they had not let me see the maps. I would have to fly, and I would have to go straight after them, or instead of finding them I might travel on and on across that vast stretch of water until my wings gave out and I plunged down into the jaws of some long-toothed sea creature. That was if I did not first perish from cold. I thought of men swimming by night, and shuddered. Surely summer would be better. Why hadn't they waited until Beltaine, at least? The air was bitter chill; the sea would be unforgiving.

Birds. Seabirds: gull, tern, albatross. Good for the long distance across the ocean, blessed with endurance and strength. Not so good on land, maybe. Too loud; too wild. It might be necessary to get close; it might be essential to be unobtrusive. A wren; a sparrow. No. Too vulnerable, too weak. No more than a tasty mouthful for some predator on the wing. One might be a hunting creature oneself, a goshawk or eagle. That did not seem right either. What was smallish, and plainish, and not too frightened of man, yet able to fly long distances? There were little gray birds in Kerry; they came down sometimes when I was sitting under the standing stones, and strutted around watching me hopefully, in case I had brought a handful of grain or a scrap of rye bread. Plump things with small heads and neat little beaks. Rock doves, they called them. Didn't folk sometimes send doves with messages? But then there was pigeon pie. Still, nobody was likely to be doing much fancy cooking where we were going. A dove was small, but not too small. It had a soft, sweet voice and plain, unobtrusive plumage. It could fly a fair way, as far as I knew. That was it, then. As soon as they left I must do it, and without any help. And at the other end, I would just have to hope I would be strong enough.

These folk had made farewells many times before, but even for them, this was unusual. At other times, a group of the men might be called away on some mission, and return again after a while with one or two missing, and one or two injured, an eye put out, an arm or shoulder damaged maybe. They were used to that, Biddy told me as I sat in a corner of her cooking area making myself swallow a bowl of soup. I could not afford to be weak in the morning, not with such a long way to go. In those days, Biddy went on, before the Chief came to Inis Eala, they'd been on the run all the time, never safe, always in hiding, or risking their lives in some impossible enterprise. They'd earned a reputation for achieving what others could not. She'd lost one good man already; she'd just have to hope she wouldn't lose another. Thanks to the Chief her boys had a trade, and weren't fighters, and so they would stay on the island. But Gull must go; she couldn't stop him. His first loyalty was with Johnny, she said wryly, sprinkling sprigs of rosemary on the side of mutton Annie was turning on the spit. Johnny was the Chiefs son, and the Chief had given Gull a life. She understood that. It didn't make Gull any less of a stupid fool, though, and she would tell him so. A man who'd passed