Child of the Prophecy (81 page)

For a moment, Johnny was poised there quite motionless, and the crowd stood, hushed now, waiting. The leaders were together in a group, Sean, Conor and Eamonn, with Bran of Harrowfield not far away; my eyes sought out Finbar and found him strangely alone on the far side of the circle. Hidden as I was from view, nonetheless he seemed to be looking straight at me, and stranger still, I thought I could hear what was in his mind.

Now would be a good time. We will help you.

"Now would be a good time," I muttered. "Don't you think?"

"Ssh," hissed Grandmother, suddenly not in the best of tempers. "What's he saying?"

Johnny's eyes were dark pools; his mouth was set grim. He looked over at his father, and at Sean. He looked across at the ashen-faced Edwin of Northwoods.

"Is this supposed to be a fight to the death?" he asked politely in the voice of a man close to losing consciousness.

There was a roar from the crowd, and then silence. It seemed to me that, whatever the response, we were poised on the brink of a disaster. And if there was anyone whose judgment I respected, it was Finbar's. I stood up, and walked out slowly from the concealment of bush and rock, my arms by my sides, my hair quickly caught by the newly freshening breeze to stream out around my head. The red banner, signal to advance. My heart thumped with terror.

Behind me, my grandmother gave a chuckle of delight. "Good, Fainne, good! Make me proud of you, girl!"

I had not a scrap of magic in me. My Otherworld helpers were gone. My grandmother was right here watching. And now I limped forward, quite unarmed, a girl in a striped dress and a silken shawl, with a childhood toy tucked into her belt, and a great army of fearsome warriors parted, muttering, to let me through. Why, I cannot tell you. Maybe it was no more than simple surprise that so unlikely a figure should appear here, on this lonely island, in the middle of such grave and perilous endeavors. Some, perhaps, thought me a creature of the Otherworld myself. A hush fell as I approached the open area where the two warriors still held their frozen posture. Blood now pooled on the earth by them, the mingled blood of two races.

Go on now, my grandmother's voice seemed to whisper. I glanced over my shoulder; she was right behind me, now dark-cloaked, dark-hooded, and she halted at the edge of the crowd, watching my every move. Finish it. Finish him. He's half-dead already. A simple matter. Quick now, before be plunges that sword in the Briton's neck with his last strength. Quick now. They're watching. They're all watching. I want to see the looks on their faces when the child of the prophecy chokes on his own lifeblood. Do it, Fainne. Do it for me, and for all our kind.

It was not so far across to where Johnny stood waiting. Ten paces, maybe. A lot can happen in ten paces. I glanced up and around the circle: saw the shocked face of my uncle Sean, the horrified expression of Eamonn, the dawning comprehension on Conor's grave features. I saw Finbar's nod of recognition and approval. I saw the confusion and doubt on the faces of Briton and Irishman alike. And beyond the circle, I saw others standing, waiting silently, their strange eyes intense and piercing: a woman taller than any mortal, pale as spring snow, with long dark hair like silk; a man crowned with flames, whose garments flowed about his stately form like a curtain of living fire. And there were others, many others, beings with rippling locks like weeds in river-water, and skin translucent as glass; lovely creatures clad in feathers and berries, in grasses and leaves, in lichen and bark and soft mosses. Every one of them was tall beyond imagining, and every one of them was looking at me. It's time, they seemed to say, though perhaps only I could see, only I could hear them. At last it's time. The Fair Folk were come, now, at the end. But they would not help me. I must do this by myself.

Go on, Fainne, my grandmother's voice urged. Quick, now. There's only one way for this to end. Kill the child. Hurry, girl!

I took another step, and another. I was halfway across the space. Then there was a shout, in the tongue of the Britons, "It's a trick! Stop the girl!" I heard a sort of whistling in the air behind me, and a general gasp; I heard someone running toward me, and I was roughly knocked sideways, so I sprawled on the ground, with something heavy on top of me. There was a roar of voices, and the sound of weapons being drawn, and the voice of my uncle Sean shouting, "No! Keep calm! Keep back!"

I struggled to my feet, dislodging the dead weight that pinned me. There was blood on my gown, a lot of blood; Riona's rose-pink skirts were stained scarlet. A man lay at my feet, and it was his blood that soaked me, for a slender spear had pierced his chest from back to front, its barbed point now protruding from his body and catching at my skirt as I stood by him. The man was choking; a red stream gushed from his mouth, and from his nose, and spilled over his green tunic. As I bent to touch his brow, to brush back the lock of brown hair that fell into his agonized eyes, he wheezed a word that might have been my name, and fell back lifeless on the earth. Against all odds, Eamonn had been the one to act on impulse, and to save my life; against the whole pattern of things, he had died a hero. A chill came over me. There must be no more of this. No more blood. No more death. It had to stop. I had to stop it.

"Keep back!" Snake yelled. "You can do nothing here!"

"We must follow due process!" It was Edwin's voice that called now. "Keep your discipline, men! We have an agreement, and will honor it!"

"Hear Lord Edwin! Keep ranks! Keep back!" This was Sean of Sevenwaters, whose own men now were clamoring loudest for blood; for it was a British spear that had killed Eamonn of Glencarnagh, though it was meant for me. It seemed only a matter of moments before these warriors, thirsty for vengeance, would break

through the guard set by Snake and his men and be at one another's throats once more, fighting and killing until the whole island was awash with blood.

A circle. A circle of protection. That was what I needed. It should be fire, because fire was easy, and It scared folk enough to keep them out. I raised my arms, and spoke the words of a spell, and turned in place where I was. I knew even as I went through the motions that I had not yet the strength even for this simple trick; the most I could summon was a tiny tingling of the fingertips, too weak to make a single spark. Nonetheless, as I turned and pointed, flames burst forth in the path of my outstretched hand, so that Johnny and the young Briton and myself were encircled by a ring of fire three handspans high, and hot enough to send the men jostling back out of the way. For the time being we were safe, Across the circle, Finbar now stood with his arm outstretched, and his great white wing unfurled. And opposite him Conor the archdruid did the same, arms spread wide, hands stretched out in a gesture of power. The flaming circle ran from him to his brother, and back again. It is useful, sometimes, to have druids in the family.

At the edge of the circle my grandmother still waited, a slight, dark-robed figure, now silent as I walked up to Johnny. Even then, even as I reached him, I was not sure what I would say, or how I might make a difference here without the craft. But they were all waiting now; the warriors, the seer and the druid, the leaders of Britain and Erin. On the rise behind the men, many small creatures were now gathered, an owl-being, a mossy rock with holes for eyes, a little bush with finger-like foliage; a hare, a wren, a thing like water in the shape of a child. And all around, behind the others, the Fair Folk themselves, guardians of the earth's secrets, holders of the mysteries of our faith; even they held their breath now, awaiting my words.

But I had no magic. I was only a girl, and a pretty poor example of one at that. I had no goodness or nobility. I could not inspire men as Johnny did. I could not charm wild creatures as Darragh could. I did not know how to heal a man bleeding from a deep wound, I could not swim or dance. Without the craft, I was nothing.

Use what is already there, the Fomhoire had told me: the natural magic of earth and water, air and fire. Druid magic. Use that. And at the moment I stepped up beside Johnny, the sky began to darken. It

was full morning; the clouds had dispersed as quickly as they gathered, and the sky was clear. But now the sun's brightness began to dim, and an eldritch twilight to fall across the landscape, as if day were turning to a strange half-night. The men began to mutter uneasily; some made signs in the air before them.

Quick, Fainne! Where's your backbone., girl? Get on with it! My grandmother grew impatient.

I'd have been scared myself, of this strange darkness, if other things had not already driven me near-witless with terror: Eamonn's blood, my grandmother's voice, my own terrible weakness. Focus. Control. I thought about my father and all I owed to him, and I knelt by the Briton where he lay prone, so that Johnny could not finish him off without risking my own life.

"Fainne! What are you doing?" my cousin hissed. Now that I was close, I could see how his hands were shaking; soon he would be unable to hold the weight of this sword. As for the Briton, he was whey-faced, and lay in a pool of blood. The sky grew darker, and the ring of fire glowed bright in the uncanny dimness of the morning. Words came to me at last.

"I am Fainne of Kerry, daughter of the sorcerer Ciaran!" I called out in a voice as solemn and grand as I could summon. This must be quick, or both these men would bleed to death where they were, and it would all be quite pointless. "I am of a great line of mages. I am come to bid you put down your arms and leave this place forever. See how the sky darkens; it is a sign of warning to you all. There has been enough blood shed here; enough waste of young life over the generations. The child of the prophecy lives, and has returned, and the great quest of the Fair Folk nears its end. Your sons stand here wounded close to death. Their blood soaks the very land that divides you. Would you lose them both in your lust for power? Retreat, save yourselves, and fight no more!" I glanced upward. It did indeed seem that some Otherworld shadow blotted out the sun's light; it was enough to make the heart clench tight with fear. From the edge of the fiery circle I could hear a voice, I thought it was Corentin's, rendering my words into the British tongue so each man there could understand. And now the assembled warriors were beginning to glance behind them nervously, their eyes sliding to those tall, mysterious figures who looked on silently; whose gaze seemed ancient and wise under the strange dark sky. "The sun hides his face," I went on. Beside me, Johnny had withdrawn his sword from the Briton's throat; the two of them watched me in astonishment. "You must leave this place, for I tell you words of truth when I say no man can live here after tomorrow; to stay on these shores is to measure your life in the span of a single journey of the sun from eastern rim to western ocean." The words seemed to flow from me now without being summoned at all; indeed, I hardly understood them myself. "The Islands are the Last Place. They are not for the grasping hand of man; neither Briton nor man of Ulster, neither Norseman nor Pict shall hold them from this day forth, for they will vanish in the mists of the margins, and reveal themselves to none but the voyager of the spirit. Come, men of Erin, men of Northumbria, hear me now. This long feud is over."

The sky had grown still darker, almost as if it were night. The sun was obscured, a mere rim of gold, its center quenched by some malign shadow. The strange light gave my words a power beyond the ordinary, and now all around the circle men muttered and whispered, and some cried out in fear, or called upon one god or another to save them. A few were already edging away from the crowd, and heading down to the boats.

"The girl speaks no more than the truth." My heart thudded as I heard the voice of the lady Oonagh. She threw back her dark cloak, and took one step forward so that she stood on the edge of the fiery circle, the flames licking at the hem of her gown, yet never catching it alight. It was as if she were impervious to its heat. She did not wear her old-woman image now, but the guise of a tall, lovely lady, white-skinned, auburn-haired, her voice sweet and strong as fresh-brewed mead. "Retreat is your only choice, poor foolish human warriors. It has all been for nothing, all these deaths, all these losses; quite pointless. The prophecy will never be fulfilled; it was no more than the ramblings of some ancient druid, age-addled and witless. There are no winners here save my own kind: I, the lady Oonagh, and my granddaughter Fainne, who shows herself now in her true colors, a sorceress even as powerful as myself!"

She turned toward me, and as she spoke, I saw my uncle Sean staring at me, horrified; and Bran of Harrowfield, grim-faced, stepping into the circle of flames, heedless of the risk, only to be pulled back by Gull and Snake, one on each side. Nobody would cross this barrier, save one stronger in the craft than those who made it,

"Now, Fainne!" My grandmother gave a gloating cackle of laughter. "Now do as we planned! Kill the boy; finish these upstarts and their Otherworld masters. End this farce about a prophecy here and now. Even now the fellow staggers with weakness; his fingers can no longer grip his weapon. Do as you promised me, and make an end of him!"