Flame of Sevenwaters (36 page)

I was not quite sure what I expected to see, but I had heard many old tales in which the Fair Folk moved in formal cavalcade across the land or through the sky by night. Sometimes they had human captives riding along with them…There was a tale of a girl who had run out and seized her beloved, and held on as he changed from man to bear to snake to fire-breathing dragon, until at last the fey queen released him from her service. But didn’t those rides always happen at full moon? Tonight, clouds veiled a moon that was still waxing.

I listened for hoofbeats, wondering whether the gray-cloak people were behind Swift’s disappearance. An uncanny woman like Caisin Silverhair would look very fine riding such a horse—he would match her long locks perfectly. She’d have a hard job training him to the saddle. I prayed that they were treating him kindly. Perhaps the Fair Folk used magic to discipline their creatures.
Bear. Badger. My brave boys.

Perhaps I really should wake Finbar. It did seem he knew more about this place and its rules than I did, perhaps because he’d had a druid as a tutor. Or maybe something had rubbed off on him during that time as an infant in Mac Dara’s hall. But he was sound asleep, peaceful under the cloak. I would wait.

The riders emerged from beneath the trees, a long double line of them, not in gray cloaks, but in glittering, shimmering raiment of gold and silver, in deepest purple and sky blue and emerald, in rose red and oak brown and sunny buttercup yellow. Some bore lanterns; it was the light from these I had seen earlier. It was curiously changeable in color, as if responding to the mood of the party, or perhaps to the music, in which harp, flute and bells had now been joined by the compelling beat of a drum. Filthy, unkempt and heartsick as I was, I felt a tingling in my body, an itching in my feet, and with them a ridiculous urge to run out into the open and dance. The music was a drug; it was as dangerous as those fungi Aunt Liadan had warned me about. I must stay where
I was, in the protection of the thornbushes with my brother sleeping by my side. But despite my better judgment, I edged forward.

The riders were so close now that I could see the silver clasps and ornaments on their horses’ harness; I could see the jewels in the ladies hair, formed into the shapes of glinting beetles, iridescent butterflies, brilliant bees. The men were equally dazzling, adorned with golden armlets, glittering bracelets, finger rings studded with gems as big as pigeons’ eggs. The folk themselves were uniformly tall. All were beautiful, their faces perfectly proportioned, their skin translucent and without blemish, their eyes lustrous and their hair falling in glossy waves or piled high in elaborate confections of ribbons and gauze and feathers. One lady had a bird nestled in her auburn tresses, as if in a nest; I thought it a toy until it opened its beak and let out an elaborate cascade of song.

I saw a woman who might be Caisin, but she was wearing a hood, and without that waterfall of silver hair I could not be sure of her identity. The women’s faces were as alike as those of sisters. Shivering, I tried to pick out Mac Dara; but with no real idea of him, I could not. Was he a man whose features showed instantly the evil at his heart? Or could he put on the semblance of goodness as easily as he might don a hat or a pair of shoes?

A sleek-haired woman had a dog before her on the saddle, a slender white hound in a jeweled harness. Its eyes were bright, but there was something in its demeanor that troubled me. It was not natural, surely, for a creature to stare fixedly ahead like that, as if it hardly saw the whirl of activity around it. Was it deaf to the music and the voices? It perched there perfectly still. Not once did it turn its head, look up at its mistress, shift its pose. But, like the bird, this was no toy; I saw it blinking, breathing. I felt a sudden urge to gather the little dog to me, to pet and soothe it, to gentle it back to itself. Foolish. I knew nothing of these folk or of their creatures.

They would soon ride by and be gone; I might never again see such a sight. I might never again hear the music that tugged me forward, filling my body with the crazy desire to dance. Me.
Maeve Claw-Hands. Out there among those perfect people, making a complete fool of myself.

The riders did not pass me by, but halted not far from my bolthole, their mounts drawn into a circle. Or almost a circle, for on the side nearest to me there was a gap that seemed perfectly arranged to give me a clear view to the open ground in the middle of their group. The music grew louder, the drumbeat more insistent. If the instruments could have spoken, they would have been calling,
Come out, Maeve! Come out and join us! Forget your sadness and dance!

I did not move. Someone had stolen my horse and my dogs. Someone had led my brother astray. Someone had tricked me into stepping over the border into the Otherworld and eating what grew here. Someone had made my brother sleep for longer than any human child should sleep at a stretch. In this situation, I had no doubt Uncle Bran would advise caution.
Stay under cover. Observe. Hold
your silence.

And yet…and yet…Oh, gods, what was this? I was as still as stone, as quiet as a mouse; I could feel the sleeping form of Finbar right beside me. But at the same time, I saw myself out there, in the middle of that circle of magnificent folk on their stately horses, the object of all eyes as I danced. One foot forward, the other foot forward, turning, prancing, arms up over my head, hands moving with fluid grace…A perfect Maeve. No claw fingers there, no disfigured face, for the dancing Maeve was lovely as a wildflower, her pale skin lightly freckled, her fiery curls rippling down over her shoulders, her green eyes bright with pleasure as she followed the heart-quickening beat of the drum. In my hiding place, I wrapped my arms across my chest, clenching my jaw tight to keep myself quiet. I watched her. I watched the lovely vision of myself. She was not clad in the filthy, tattered remnant of a gown that I had worn for the last three days and nights, nor the evil-smelling, damp shoes I had not dared remove. Dancing Maeve was in a gown the color of moonlight, of lilies, of snowdrops. She wore a simple ornament on a chain around her neck; I could not see it clearly, only the sparkle of it as she turned in the light of the fey lanterns.

Now there was a man dancing with her. With me. His hand in mine; his every movement a complement to mine, so that we seemed like two parts of the same being. He was a big man, well built, broad shouldered and tall. Dark haired. Somehow, whichever way he turned, I could never quite see his face. And yet he looked familiar. He looked like someone I should know. The flute soared like a lark; the shimmer of the bells was a waterfall in springtime. The drum beat heart-deep. The singing was over; around the circle, the watchers were silent now, their lovely countenances grave as they observed the dancers. Why couldn’t I see the man’s face? Who was he? And who was that other Maeve, the one who looked as I might have done if the past had been different? Why would I be shown this?

The music reached a peak and fell to a quiet ending. Flute, bells and drum whispered into silence. Graceful Maeve rose on tiptoes to give her partner a little kiss on the cheek, and I saw the sweet tenderness on her face as she looked at him.
You will not cry
, I told myself.
This is false
.
It’s fey magic. You’ve known since you were a chid that you couldn’t have this. Shut your eyes. Don’t look at these lies.

But I did look. I kept on looking as the horses moved again, and as the uncanny procession re-formed, and as the Fair Folk lifted their lanterns high and rode off under the trees. I kept on looking, hoping I might glimpse the face of that man at whom Graceful Maeve had looked with her eyes soft with love. But both he and she were lost in the group, and if they mounted horses and rode off with the others, I did not see them.

After that I did not sleep, but lay awake staring up at the sky, where stars winked in and out of view between the shifting clouds. I did not weep; I had shed my tears earlier, for the loss of Bear and Badger and for the errors I had made, and now what I felt was a slow-burning anger. Why show me that? Why torment me? I had done nothing to harm these folk, nothing at all beyond stepping over their border uninvited, and I’d had good reason for that. Besides, Caisin herself had bid me do just that when she sent me after Finbar. None of it made sense. I watched the sky gradually lighten, and worked on various theories, including the notion that
Caisin had not been among the folk I had seen tonight, but that perhaps Mac Dara had sent them. Caisin had not seemed inimical; indeed she had been both courteous and helpful, if more detached than a human woman might have been in the circumstances. And if the old tales taught us anything, it was that the Tuatha De did not think or act like humankind. Might Mac Dara find it amusing to tease me with visions of a perfect self?

As the dawn edged closer and the first birds began their tentative chirping out in the oak forest, I fought through the numbing grief of losing the dogs and made myself plan the day as Bran would. The goal. Get over that wretched bridge and back onto Sevenwaters land before nightfall. Reaching home would be a two-day journey. The equipment. What we had was limited, but useful: the waterskin, the remains of Caisin’s cordial, some nuts, the cloak, the blanket, which Finbar could carry. The nuts would be adequate to get us through one day, and as we’d already eaten some, it would make no difference if we consumed the rest. I would not touch any other food we found and I’d make sure Finbar didn’t, either. Once over the bridge, we could forage safely. At least we were unhurt, though I was tired and sore, and there was a wrenching feeling in my stomach, as if leaving Bear and Badger behind might cut me in two. But I had to get Finbar home. I had to put that first.
They’re only dogs
, a little voice whispered in my mind, and sudden, furious tears came to my eyes, but I did not let them fall.

There was one thing I had not allowed for in my planning: that Finbar might have other ideas.

“We can’t go home,” he said as we ate our breakfast of a few nuts washed down with a mouthful of water. “You wouldn’t go away and leave Bear and Badger here, Maeve. And what about Swift?”

“Mother and Father would expect me to take you straight home. That is the right thing to do.” It was painful to get the words out.

“Right for them, maybe. But not right for you. You can’t leave Bear behind.” He spoke simply, knowing exactly what this meant
to me. When I was ten I had risked death trying to save Bounder from the fire. I had done so without a second thought. Had ten more years of growing up turned me into a coward?

“I don’t want to talk about it,” I said. “My plan is that we head straight for home. It’s the only sensible choice.”

After a moment, Finbar said, “Can I tell you my plan?”

“You can tell me while we walk. I want you over that bridge today.” I rose to my feet. Beyond our shelter the day was brightening and the solitary chirps and cheeps had become a chorus to the sun.

“Which bridge?”

“Any bridge that leads home. The withy bridge I came over, or the one you used, if you can find it. Yours does sound much easier.”

“Maeve.”

I sighed and sat down again. “All right, tell me.”

“We need to follow Bear and Badger. I saw them go; I can find the way. It’s still early. We can rescue them and get to the bridge before dark.”

Oh, yes, yes!
cried Wild Maeve. I closed my ears to her. “That’s not a very good plan, Finbar,” I said. “For all sorts of reasons.” Reasons I had no intention of discussing with him, lest I frighten him out of his wits.

“But it’s the right plan. We came here to find Swift. And now Bear and Badger have been taken, we need to find them, too. Going home now is giving up the mission. You’re brave. You’d never give up a mission.” There was something in his young face that terrified me: a naked longing to be proven right, and not to have me turn out to be less than he’d believed.

I cleared my throat, searching for good words and finding none. “The mission has changed. My first job must be to make sure you get home safely. You’re my brother; you’re our parents’ only son. And you’re a boy. Bear and Badger are dogs.” I could not bring myself to say
only dogs
. “They will look after themselves.”

“They didn’t last time. When you found them they were half-starved and scared to death.”

“They are strong now.” Stronger, yes. But how easily they might be tipped back into that nightmare. “Finbar, if I’d come
down to the field and found Swift gone and you still there, I wouldn’t have run after him. I would have gone for help. Fetched Father, or Emrys, or Luachan. I only came here because of you. Because I needed to make sure you were safe.”

Finbar sat silent, hunched over, staring at his hands.

“That is the truth. It’s the way things are. I’m not giving up on my mission. Of course I want to go after Bear and Badger. I want to so much it hurts. But I can’t. I’m not being weak. I’m trying to be strong.”

“That means it’s my fault.” His voice had lost all its assurance; it was small and forlorn. “My fault you’re here; my fault you can’t rescue the dogs. My fault Swift is lost.”

“Hardly.” I put my arm around him. “Swift chose to bolt. That’s nobody’s fault, unless you want to blame Emrys or me for not training him better. As for Bear and Badger, they made their own choices. Come on, we need to move.”

“I think we’re meant to follow them.”

I felt the hairs on my neck stand up. “What was that?”

“I think, if we don’t follow them, everything will come out wrong.”

Now he was really worrying me. “What do you mean?”

“It’s like that story, the one about the valley being flooded because everyone forgot a geis. They did the wrong thing, and it all went bad until Finn and Baine were brave enough to break the rules and put it right.”

“This isn’t the wrong thing. It makes perfect sense for us to go home. If we follow the dogs we could both get hurt and we still might not find them. And there’s something else, something you might not have thought of.”