Flame of Sevenwaters (57 page)

I needed the privy; I hoped I could find it on my own. I walked to the doorway, parted the curtain of dangling fronds that covered it and almost fell over the man who lay across the threshold, fast asleep. He was wrapped in a cloak, apple red with an ornate border worked in gold thread—toadstools, acorns, tiny birds complete in every detail. The bright color made Artagan’s cheeks look wan; he had bruise-like shadows under his eyes. A lock of dark hair had fallen across his face. His head was pillowed on his hands. My faithful Bear.

“Sleep softly, dear one,” I whispered, then stepped over him and left him to his rest.

There was a woman in the bathing chamber to help me wash and dress. She offered me an elaborate red and gold gown with trailing sleeves and rich embroidery. When I suggested it was not suitable for a journey through the forest, she brought out a skirt and tunic that were very slightly plainer in style, but still somewhat grand, with decorative borders that were small, strange forests in themselves, all curly trees and big-eyed, peering creatures. I half-expected to see the owls and badgers and not-quite-squirrels
moving about. Under this, a shirt of fine linen, and for my hair a cloth of the same stuff with lacy edging. Good stockings and pretty shoes of red felt that seemed unlikely to last as far as the bottom of the garden, let alone all the way home.

When I was dressed to the woman’s satisfaction, she combed and braided my hair, then tied on the head cloth. Lastly, she did a creditable job of securing my arm in the sling. I thanked her and headed out into the garden. If everyone else was still abed, I would sit quietly in the pavilion awhile and make a start on coming to terms with it all.

Someone was there before me. Ciarán stood gazing out across the grass as the first rays of dawn began to filter through the trees. A bird sounded a tentative note; another answered.
Time! Time! Awake!
Another voice joined them, then another. The garden filled up with song.

“I don’t want to disturb you—” I said, halting at the foot of the steps.

“Not at all, Maeve. I wanted to see you. I have something to ask you.”

I came to stand beside him. Behind us in the house there were sounds of folk stirring now.

“I’m afraid there is no news of Swift as yet,” Ciarán said. “We will continue to search.”

“Thank you, Uncle Ciarán.” My heart sank. Swift would have been beside himself after that ordeal. Likely he had plunged over a drop or into a mire and done himself damage there was no repairing. That lay squarely on my shoulders.

“Maeve, Luachan has asked to speak to you.”

I said nothing. I was not sure how I felt about this.

“It is your decision, yes or no. If you agree to see him, I will ensure someone else is present—Cathal, or Artagan if you prefer, or a guard. But I will understand if you do not wish to allow Luachan this opportunity. He asked to speak to Finbar, too. I said no to that.”

“Uncle Ciarán…”

“What is it?”

“Finbar…How much do you think he knew of what was to happen? He often seemed aware of things he could not have seen, except in visions. And when I asked, he would say,
I’m not supposed to tell
. And sometimes he’d say,
This is the way it’s supposed to be,
even when we were making a choice that seemed unwise. I know a seer’s visions don’t show exactly what will happen. I understand that they can be symbolic, or that they might show past, present and future mixed up together. And when it’s the future, it’s only a possible future. Sibeal explained it to me long ago. More than once, Luachan said Finbar was too young to interpret his visions correctly, so it was better for him to keep them to himself. But maybe he said that to stop Finbar from talking too much. Maybe he was becoming aware that Finbar suspected him.” That made me cold to the core. How the knowledge must have weighed on my brother.

“I believe Finbar knew, in essence, that Mac Dara would not be defeated unless you and he were both present,” Ciarán said. “I have spoken to him a little, not much, for he needs time to come back to himself. He may seem well and happy, but this has tested him severely. I doubt if his visions would have shown him clearly what Luachan was, or that Caisin was as ruthless as Mac Dara. But Finbar knew enough to be wary of Luachan. Until the truth came out, I had wondered why they were not better friends.” His lips twisted. “It is hard to believe I missed this. Even a day ago, I still thought Luachan trustworthy. He is an expert dissembler. What shall I tell him, Maeve?”

“I’ll listen to him,” I said. “But not for long.”

They were in a chamber with a long table of polished oak and benches to either side. A curious lamp stood in the table’s center, fashioned in the shape of two birds with necks intertwined, their heads supporting the light. One was of silver and one of gold; their eyes were fashioned of gleaming gems. A fine oak chair stood at the head of the table, but nobody was seated there. Cathal stood by the far doorway, arms folded, jaw tight, dark eyes baleful, as if he would snap the head off anyone who dared to speak.

Luachan was seated at the table, staring down at his hands. When I came in, he jumped up. “Maeve!”

“Be silent,” said Cathal. He spoke quietly, but it was nonetheless an order. “It’s for Maeve to speak and for you to answer. If she wants to hear your excuses, she’ll let you know.” He looked at me. “You may wish to be seated,” he said. “Tell me when you’ve had enough and I’ll take him away.”

I reminded myself that this intimidating person was my sister’s husband, and that his hostility was not meant for me. I sat down opposite Luachan and made myself look him in the eye.

“Sit down,” I said. “I don’t want an apology. No apology would be adequate for your betrayal of my brother, or your complicity in a plot that could have seen both me and Finbar dead. If you want to set the facts before me, this is your chance. I don’t imagine I will see you again after today.”

At first he found it hard to get the words out. I did not help him, simply waited. Then, once he began, the story tumbled from him, an outpouring of fear, guilt and shame. How he had been in the habit of wandering into the forest when the intensity of his druidic training became too overwhelming; how one day Caisin’s people had found him when he strayed beyond the protection of the nemetons. How they had threatened his family if he did not comply with Caisin’s plans. He had been newly appointed as Finbar’s tutor then; Caisin had seen how useful it would be to have a willing agent in the heart of my father’s household. She knew that if the geis were to be used, Finbar must be part of it, and she learned soon enough how difficult it would be to get him away. Luachan would be the key to that. My arrival with Swift, so near to the next Grand Conclave, had excited her greatly, for now she could see it all falling into place: the two dogs, the brothers of the geis, or so Caisin believed; the matchless steed; the girl with claws for hands, who happened to have one rare talent. For Luachan, the pressure became more intense, the threats more dire as the conclave approached.

“You encouraged me to move down to the cottage,” I said, remembering how it had been. “Just me and Rhian, without a guard. And later, it was you who suggested Finbar come to the nemetons
as well. You manipulated all of us.” I could not believe I had been taken in by him. I had even been somewhat flattered by his interest, since the attention of a young man, druid or no druid, was rare for me. How gullible. What a fool. I should have seen through it instantly.

“That day, Caisin’s people lured Swift away with the scent of a mare in season,” he said. “The moment was chosen with care, so that Finbar must follow or lose the trail; we knew you would go after him. And where you went, the dogs would follow. Caisin’s people captured them later, to be sure they were ready at the conclave.”

“You came searching for us. But you weren’t searching; you were trying to keep us from reaching home. No wonder you were so inept at finding shelter. No wonder you couldn’t locate the way back.” Oh, this was a bitter draught to swallow.

“That night, after you refused to help Caisin, she asked me what incentive she could offer that would possibly weigh more than a promise to restore you to health and beauty.”

“And you told her not to offer me a bribe, but to tell me a hideous falsehood…You knew that would make me so angry I would do what she wanted right then and there, no need to consult Father, no need to wait as any sensible person would have done…That was cruel, Luachan. If it were not for the fact that I know you acted out of love for your sisters, I woud think you did not understand love at all.”

He looked down at his hands. “I know no apology can be adequate,” he said. “I do not ask you to forgive me, Maeve; I do not deserve that. Only that you listen for a little longer.”

I waited.

“I know I’ve done wrong. I know only a lengthy period of service here can win me back my life in the human world. I know I will never be more to you than the man who betrayed your trust and almost got you and your brother killed. If I must live with that burden, then so be it. But…” He drew a ragged breath. “If you could find it in yourself to…perhaps to understand, just a little…My youngest sister is only twelve years old, Maeve.”

“Look at me, Luachan,” I said. He turned his beautiful blue
eyes on me, eyes that had lied over and over again. “I cannot bring myself to say I forgive you. But I have sisters and a brother of my own, and I think I understand.”

He bowed his head.

“I’m ready to go now,” I said to Cathal. “If we’re to ride back to the keep, we should probably be leaving soon.”

Cathal motioned to someone beyond the entry, and a pair of fey guards in red and gold came to take Luachan away.

“That was…difficult,” I said. “I wonder how long it will be before Ciarán lets him come back.”

“You were remarkably understanding,” Cathal said. “Generosity must run in the family.”

“I haven’t really introduced myself.” Cathal and I were virtual strangers; it felt odd to be here with him, speaking of such matters. “I was too tired last night to talk to anyone.”

“You’re so like Clodagh,” Cathal said, his thin lips quirking into a half-smile. “I’ll be privileged to escort you home, Maeve. You’ve been forged in the fire, tested and tempered, and I see you’re made of the same rare metal as my wife is. As for the journey, you will find the way out of this realm is far shorter than the way in. We won’t set off before you and your companions have broken your fast. Luachan’s horse must be brought over from Caisin’s hall, and Finbar has some farewells to make.”

“Cathal…” I hesitated, reluctant to bring that haunted look back to his face, for as he’d spoken of Clodagh it had faded.

“Ask me what you wish.”

“This will mean Ciarán can’t come back, won’t it? I know Mac Dara was seen from time to time in our world, and so was the Lady of the Forest, long ago. But…it would be different for him, wouldn’t it? He is half-human and has human ties. Ruling in the Otherworld would take all his energy, all his dedication. So when he made his speech about the sacrifice, he meant…”

“Nobody can be sure what will come.” Cathal’s tone was grave. “I had thought to take on the burden myself. I came here expecting to do so. I said good-bye to Clodagh knowing Mac Dara’s defeat would likely cost me my future by her side. I embraced my
children for what I thought would be the last time. What Ciarán did…his choice…When our time becomes the ancient past, when bards sing of it, that act of selflessness should be woven into their grandest tales.”

We stood there awhile in silence, until Finbar appeared in the doorway, clad like me in resplendent red and gold.

“Maeve, are you hungry? It’s time for breakfast.”

The meal was quiet. Artagan sat beside me, helping me eat. Tiernan was opposite, watching us, not saying a word. Daigh engaged Finbar in desultory conversation. At the head of the table sat Cathal, the dark clouds back on his face. I did not see him eat a single bite. I was relieved when Ciarán came into the chamber and announced that Blaze was here and our escort was ready.

Outside on the sward that escort waited. They were many, and not one of them higher than my waist. Cat Mask was there, and the hedgehog-dwarf with a pale knife at its belt, and beings of myriad kinds, some leafy, some vaporous, some resembling nothing so much as chunks of rock with holes for eyes, some almost like ordinary men and women, save for their diminutive size. Many were creatures, or variations of creatures: a great lizard with a fox’s brush, a being with bird legs and the face of a rat, another that seemed part dog, part pony.

“I will walk with you to the portal,” Ciarán said.

Cathal turned to address the rest of us. “My friends here will lead us; it is thanks to them that we need not take the longer way. Maeve, can you manage this on foot?”

“Of course.” Since I had been ordered not to ride until my hand was mended, there was really no choice. I wondered what had happened to my bag with my spare clothing and waterskin. Was it still in Caisin’s hall? Would there be folk there now, cursing me and Finbar, plotting Ciarán’s downfall? He had not banished Dioman or Fiamain; he had not laid any punishment on Caisin’s kin. They could make his way forward difficult if they chose.

Nobody was carrying much by way of provisions or equipment.
Even Blaze was without the saddlebags she had borne when Luachan brought her here. Cathal had a small pack and his not inconsiderable weaponry; the rest of us had nothing except our unsuitable clothing. We looked as if we were heading for a court entertainment, not a long hard walk through the forest.

“Er…won’t we need food and water, and perhaps some means of making shelter on the way if it rains?” I did not like to appear critical of Cathal, especially with that look on his face.

“All that you need, we will provide.” That came from a creature wearing a mask, this one the face of a dog wrought in silver. It was standing beside Cathal. Perhaps these small folk were already familiar to him, since he had been to this realm before. He had stayed a long time as his father’s captive. Seasons had passed, years maybe, while he waited for Clodagh’s return. Yet for her that absence had been only a matter of a day or two. A shiver ran through me, imagining how it would be if we stepped through this portal, wherever it was, and found our loved ones long dead and buried. In the old tales, time was often cruel to travelers between worlds.