Flame of Sevenwaters (23 page)

“A man will do much for his children,” Father said. “He’ll perform reckless acts, deeds of bloody vengeance or insane courage. I hope Cruinn is not yet driven to such an extreme, but we must at least consider the possibility. With Johnny and his forces too far north to call in quickly and the autumn advancing, we would be vulnerable.”

I thought of the old times, when Sibeal had been visited by the Lady of the Forest, a figure of benign power and goodness, a lamp in a dark world. Once, the chieftain of Sevenwaters could have relied on that greater power to help in time of need, provided he was prepared to be brave and resourceful himself. It was hard to accept that those times were gone.

Luachan cleared his throat. “If I may suggest…We agree, I take it, that Mac Dara is behind not only the Disappearance and its aftermath, but the whole chain of trouble that has dogged Sevenwaters since the time of Finbar’s abduction years ago. Since Cathal first came to Sevenwaters and Mac Dara realized his son had grown into a fine man and had wandered back within his reach.” He waited for a response.

“That is undoubtedly so,” Ciarán said. “The events surrounding Finbar’s capture and rescue made it quite plain.” He paused. “This is well known to you, Luachan; it is for precisely this reason that you were chosen as Finbar’s tutor and protector.”

Luachan smiled faintly. “I speak thus for Lady Maeve’s benefit, since she is newly arrived here and may not be fully aware of the facts. Also to point out that it makes more sense to uproot the weed than to spend time picking out its thorns. I believe there is no point in continuing the search; no chance at all that the last of these men will be found alive and brought home safely. You should direct your resources not to placating Cruinn but to the destruction of Mac Dara.”

“Go on.” Father’s tone was carefully neutral. Had I been in Luachan’s shoes, that tone would have made me think twice about saying another word. “I assume you have a strategy to suggest, one that is not beyond our capabilities?”

“I do. No army. No allies. No war. Offer Mac Dara what he wants. Lure him out. Trick him, then destroy him.”

The silence felt dangerous. I admired the young druid’s boldness. I was not so sure about his judgment.

“What are you suggesting, Luachan?” Father made no attempt to disguise his shock. “That we should risk Cathal’s safety, or that of his infant son, in order to draw Mac Dara to us? Attempt a bluff when we lack the ability to follow through?”

“Luachan,” Mother said, “what happened to Finbar marked him. I see the shadow of that experience on him even now; the brightest light in all the world cannot banish it. How can you believe we would use another child as a pawn in Mac Dara’s evil game?”

“I do not suggest Cathal’s son be involved. The boy is too young to play a part in such a ruse. Cathal himself is a different matter. From what I have heard, Mac Dara’s son is a warrior of some note, and adept in the magical arts. To preserve the future of Sevenwaters, would Cathal not come forth from his bolt-hole in the north and challenge the Lord of the Oak? Who better to trick the trickster than his own son?”

Another silence. I wondered if I had misunderstood Luachan’s position in the household, or in the nemetons. His youth did not necessarily make him a junior player in the game of strategy. And after all, what he was suggesting was more or less the same thing Ciarán had spoken of that day when he had talked to me at the cottage.

“Cathal would not risk Clodagh or his children by bringing them here,” Mother said, as if there were no argument about it. “And he would not come alone, leaving them on Inis Eala, even though that place is considered as safe as our nemetons, perhaps safer. We’ve heard this from Johnny more than once, and also from Clodagh, through Deirdre.”

“May I say something?” I looked around the circle of troubled faces. “You dismissed the idea of involving Deirdre openly; if she helps, it must be secretly, from behind the safe walls of Dun na Ri. Mother is saying Clodagh must stay at Inis Eala with her children. And it sounds as if Cathal isn’t prepared to leave her, so that means he can’t come, even though that is what Luachan suggests must happen—that the son must be here to battle the father, whether that’s a battle with sword and shield or a battle with magic or merely a test of wills. Of course nobody wants to put their loved ones in danger. But I think Luachan may be right. We should deal with the sickness itself, not only the symptoms. And we must be prepared to face risk; there’s no escaping it, unless we all hide away and hope Mac Dara will eventually tire of his quest. I don’t believe that will happen.”

Perhaps seeing that my mother was becoming distressed, Ciarán spoke next. “In one respect, Luachan is absolutely correct. We cannot defeat Mac Dara by force of arms. What we must seek to do is to outwit him. His activities have increased markedly of recent times. He seems to be in a hurry to achieve his goal. I would very much like to know why. Does he fear that the longer Cathal stays away, and the more settled he and his family become on Inis Eala, the harder it will be to lure him out again? Does he suspect his son is spending his time up there perfecting his magical craft, the better to return and defeat his father? Or is this something else entirely?”

“Does Mac Dara need reasons?” put in Luachan. “The Disappearance could be an act of pure mischief. He may simply be entertaining himself. Such a creature does not think as you or I might. With respect,” he added somewhat belatedly.

“I wish I knew the answer to your question, Ciarán,” Father said with a grim smile. “It might prove part of the key to defeating him.”

“Mac Dara is old, isn’t he, even by the standards of the Fair Folk?” I said. “Can his kind die, or do they go on forever?” Ciarán had said the Lady of the Forest and her kind had sailed away into the west. A kind of death, perhaps. Or a new adventure. Maybe
both. “If he feared his reign was nearing its end, he might be desperate to have his heir ready to assume power. And it seems important to him to see Cathal, or Cathal’s son, take his place.” The issue was awkward, since Ciarán himself was the offspring of one of the Tuatha De.

“He will not die,” Ciarán said, “but he will…fade. The Tuatha De do not retain their power and vigor eternally. In time Mac Dara will diminish, and another will take his place.” A pause for consideration; he looked unusually somber. “Though I have to say, the clever use of spellcraft can lead to the demise of such a one, especially if that one is caught off guard. I have seen it done.”

“Indeed,” murmured my father, glancing at him. Neither of them chose to elaborate.

“Even Mac Dara must have a weak spot,” I said. “To trick someone as clever and devious as he seems to be, you’d need to know as much as possible about him. Though where you would find out about a prince of the Fair Folk, I’m not sure. You’d have to go back to old tales, I suppose.”

Ciarán nodded; everyone seemed to be listening with interest. Encouraged, I went on. “And Cathal must know about his own father, even though he didn’t grow up with him—he did spend some time as his captive, in the Otherworld, before Clodagh went to fetch him back. We should ask him.” I realized how that sounded. “I mean, you could ask him, Uncle Ciarán, through Deirdre. If you found out what Mac Dara’s weak spot is—I’m not speaking of those tales in which a dragon or monster is defeated because it is missing a scale under its chin or between its toes, but about a chink in a different kind of armor—that could give you the means to trap him. You might be able to turn his own cleverness against him.”

“You are something of a strategist, Maeve,” Ciarán murmured.

I felt my cheeks grow warm. “You can blame Uncle Bran for that. He encouraged my interest in such matters. Fintan did as well. As Aunt Liadan’s son, he could hardly fail to learn that women can be as strategic in their thinking as men, even if they may be destined to use those skills to organize a household, not an
army.” I caught Mother’s eyes on me; she was not smiling, but I sensed her approval.

“If you agree, Sean, I will go to Dun na Ri,” Ciarán said. “I will ask Deirdre to communicate with Clodagh and, through her, with Cathal.” He hesitated. “Illann can bring word of the result to you. I have another journey to make before I return to Sevenwaters. Finbar asked me about geasa and put an idea into my mind. Has it occurred to you that such a curse may lie over Mac Dara himself?”

A geis! That, I had not considered. I saw from the expressions of my companions that the notion was a surprise to everyone, save perhaps Luachan. It wasn’t easy to surprise a druid.

“A remote possibility,” Ciarán added. “But a possibility nonetheless.”

“A geis could explain the increase in Mac Dara’s hostilities of recent times,” Father mused. “Such a thing must catch up with a person eventually; as the years pass, there must be an increased urgency in the wish to set one’s affairs to rights. And that would include having a successor in place before the terms of the geis came to pass.”

“How could you find out?” Luachan asked Ciarán. “Who would know such a thing?”

“Ah.” Ciarán’s expression was grave; I thought he was looking deep into the past. “I cannot be sure of that. But I know where I would begin to seek answers. In his pressing desire for a son and heir, Mac Dara fathered many daughters over the long years of his life, until at last Cathal was born. Very many daughters. Some are ordinary women, some not so ordinary. Some believe themselves to be fully human; some know of their fey parentage and the gifts it brings. If answers are to be had, I will find them among those women.” He glanced at my father. “It may take some time.”

“We could provide you with a riding horse and an escort,” Father said. “But I imagine you will refuse both. You’ll wish to travel by your own paths.”

“I’ve just thought of something,” I said.

“What is it, Maeve?”

“Father, when Cruinn’s men first went missing, they were on horseback, weren’t they? What happened to their horses?”

“Most were found unharmed, close to the track from which the riders went missing. Two had wandered back toward Tirconnell and were sheltered by folk along the way—Cruinn instituted a thorough search of his own. Three were found within the next few days by my men, loose in the forest. They had some scratches and were tired and hungry, but all recovered quickly and were returned to Cruinn. The others…”

“Two were never found, Lady Maeve,” Doran said. “Another we discovered dead, quite some time later and quite some distance away from the area where the others were located. Wolves had attacked it; there wasn’t much left.”

“Why do you ask?” Ciarán had his eye on Bear, who had risen to his feet as if to suggest it was time for us to leave.

“Bear and Badger had been wandering in the forest for some time before I found them. Their condition made that plain. It’s obvious they belonged to someone. They are not wild creatures; Bear obeyed my commands almost from the first. I wondered if…” I really did not want to say this, did not want to set in chain a sequence of events that must end with my losing them. “I wondered whether Cruinn’s lost men had dogs with them when they rode out. It’s common enough for hounds to run alongside such a party. It would mean Bear and Badger had been in the forest for longer than I thought, but it seems possible. And…their behavior earlier today was unusual. They were deeply disturbed by the sight of that man hanging from the tree.”

“Death is always disturbing,” Mother said. “Even for a dog, I imagine. The two of them are closely attuned to you, Maeve. They felt your distress, perhaps.”

“It was more than that. They seemed to know where the man was, or to sense it. Otherwise why did they bolt from the path when he was much too far away for them to see or smell? It was almost…uncanny.”

Silence. Everyone looked at Bear. Bear looked only at me. His eyes were pools of liquid amber in the lamplight.

“There’s another possibility.” Father spoke with obvious reluctance. “One I have heard suggested in this household. That they are Mac Dara’s creatures, sent to lure you off the path and expose you to danger. Spies in our midst; bearers of secret messages. I see your repugnance, Maeve, but the idea must be put in the open. Didn’t we just say we must learn as much as we can about our enemy? Imagine how it might be: Mac Dara looking for a weak link among us, observing you, knowing, perhaps, the circumstances under which you left Sevenwaters as a child. He might have noticed how much you love creatures and want to help them. How better to manipulate you than by placing in your path a pair of starving dogs needing food, shelter and love?”

You will not lose your temper,
I ordered myself.
You will stay in control.
I rose to my feet. “That isn’t so,” I said, summoning every technique Uncle Bran had taught me for keeping calm. “I would know.”

Luachan, too, had risen. “It cannot be so,” he said quietly. “The nemetons are protected against the powers of evil; the hand of the goddess lies over that place and all who dwell there. Maeve first saw the creatures within the borders of our sanctuary. If these are creatures of Mac Dara, they could not have entered there.”

I cleared my throat, wishing I did not have to correct him. “In fact, I first saw them as we were walking from the keep to the nemetons, you and Finbar and I. And they were some distance off the path. They only entered the nemetons after I coaxed them closer.”

“Don’t distress yourself, Maeve,” Ciarán said. “Your parents and I have already discussed this theory; indeed, we did so some time ago, when Lady Aisling had cause to reprimand someone for airing it publicly. I said I thought it unlikely, since it depends on Mac Dara having a true understanding of such qualities as compassion, love and loneliness. To conjure in this way, a man must surely know what lies deep in the human heart. While he has a better grasp of such matters than many of his kind, I do not believe him capable of that.”

“I see,” I said more bluntly than was perhaps polite. “Will you
excuse me? I’m tired; it’s been a long day. I think it’s best if you continue this without me.” So they’d been talking this over for some time. Discussing my behavior behind my back, without bothering to speak to me first. I squared my shoulders and lifted my chin. “Bear, come.”