Seer of Sevenwaters (30 page)

Eventually they came in. I heard Gull’s voice, low and encouraging, and Ardal’s patchy response, a word, a pause, another word. Sitting behind the curtain that screened my chamber, I knew how tired he was.

I did not go out into the infirmary. I stayed quietly on my bed, wondering what Ciarán would think best under the circumstances. How would my wise mentor interpret Svala’s vision? Perhaps he would think it best that I told Johnny before Ardal.
The answers lie within you, Sibeal.
I could almost hear him saying it. Ciarán never told me what to do. On occasion he would remind me that the skills I had learned in the nemetons would help me find my own solutions. It was the druid way. Sometimes, when the voices of the gods were silent, it felt profoundly lonely.

When it was time, I went to supper. After we had eaten, the musicians played, and I told the tale of Deirdre and Naoise, which is a sad love story. And after that, Kalev was persuaded to step up and give us a tale from his homeland, a strange, violent tale about a girl who married a snake. I congratulated him afterward and made him blush again. When I got back to the infirmary, Ardal was already asleep.

Something jolted me awake. I sat up, my heart pounding. All was silent. Had I heard the door creak a moment ago? Or was it only the wind? No: beyond my curtain, I could hear stealthy footsteps on the infirmary floor. A chill sense of wrongness filled me, leaving no room for the obvious explanations—Gull heading out to the privy, Ardal wakeful and restless. I slid out of bed and snatched up my shawl. As I drew the curtain aside, a voice screamed in my mind:
Help!

The place was in near darkness, the fire damped down, the lamps quenched, the candles snuffed out. There was just sufficient light to show me an amorphous dark mass where the sleeping figure of Ardal should be; something was moving, struggling, and I heard a sound of stifled pain. A wash of feelings flowed through me: shock, terror, desperation, hatred. A fierce will for survival; a dark need to kill. Two men were locked in a ferocious struggle. One of them was dying. I felt the juddering, halting heartbeat in my own breast. He was fading away, leaving me forever . . .

I flung myself across the chamber, taking in the attacker’s flaxen hair, his awkward stance with one knee up on the pallet, his fingers on Ardal’s neck, pressing hard. I grabbed his arm, trying to haul him off. He was like a rock, immovable. “Gull!” I screamed. “Gull, help!”

The arm came back, swatting me off like an unwelcome insect, and I crashed to the floor, jarring hip and elbow. My mind edged toward blank terror. Oh gods, in a moment Ardal would be dead, and I couldn’t, I couldn’t . . .
You are a druid, Sibeal
, said a small, strong voice inside me.
Use what you know. Use what is already here.
A distraction. I needed him to let go just for a moment. A moment of elemental magic—use what is here—fire, glowing red beneath a blanket of ash. Now, quick! I concentrated my mind on that red, feeling its heat, feeling its strength in the beating of my heart.
Help me. Help us
. I spoke a word I had learned from Ciarán, a word of power.

The fire flared into sudden brilliance, flames shooting high. The attacker uttered an exclamation, perhaps a Norse curse, and in that instant Ardal rolled out of his grasp, toppling off the pallet and landing on the floor beside me. His breath was the scrape of metal on stone.

I struggled to my knees, then to my feet. The fire had died down now. Knut was standing very still, facing me; the flickering light played in his eyes, and set a gleam on the knife at his belt.

“You were trying to kill him,” I said, hearing the cold iron in my voice. “I saw you leaning over him with your fingers on his neck. I saw you.”

“No, no,” Knut said, taking a step closer. “You see nothing. Mistake.” His hand went to the knife’s hilt. “You see nothing at all. Yes?” There was a small, metallic sound, and now the weapon was in his hand.

How Ardal managed it I do not know, but he was up in a flash, grabbing me by the shoulder and thrusting me behind him. He stretched out his arms to shield me. His hands were shaking. His voice came in a harsh whisper, and although he spoke in Norse, I could guess the meaning.
Lay a finger on her and you’re dead, I swear it.

A crash as the back door was flung open. Gull strode in. The light from his candle sent shadows leaping around the chamber. “What in the name of the gods is going on?” he bellowed.

In the moment of distraction Knut moved, slicing with his knife. Ardal cried out, staggered and fell. As he went down, his head struck the chest by the pallet with a thud.

“Hold!” roared Gull, surging toward us, and there was a flurry of movement. I crouched down, my hand on Ardal’s shoulder. He was so still. So terribly still. I could hear the rumbling approach of the Ankou in his cart of stones. Then, nearer at hand, there was the sound of a blow and a thud, and Gull’s voice. “Sibeal, if you can get up, take my candle, light the two lamps and bring me a length of rope. Ardal, are you injured?”

I did as I was told, knowing nothing could be done for Ardal without good light. With great presence of mind, Gull had set his candle on a shelf as he came back in. I touched the flame to the wicks of two oil lamps. A warm light spread through the chamber, revealing the prone form of Knut, facedown and evidently unconscious. Gull’s foot was planted on his back.

“Ardal’s hurt,” I said. I did not sound like a person who had just performed an act of elemental magic. My voice was that of a frightened child.

“Sibeal, the rope. Evan has a coil out the back.”

When I brought it, Gull said, “You’ll need to make the knots for me. Wrists behind his back, ankles together. He’ll come to soon; I only hit him hard enough to stun, and I’ve cause to know how strong he is.”

“Ardal—”

“I’ll help him as soon as this is done. Not like that, wind it through and over . . . that’s it. Then I must ask you to go for help. I won’t leave you with Knut, even trussed up. What in the name of the gods was he doing? Did he try to assault you?”

“He would have killed Ardal. I woke up and he was there, pressing his fingers into his neck. And then he slashed at him with a knife. Gull, please see if Ardal’s all right. He’s unconscious, and I think he’s bleeding . . . ”

“This job needs doing first. Now the ankles. I got a good blow in because he wasn’t expecting it. I wouldn’t like my chances a second time. Tie it firmly.” He hauled the Norseman over to the wall, propping him in a sitting position.

Gods, don’t let Ardal be dead, please, please . . . I’ll do anything, anything you want . . .

He lay as I had left him, head on one side, face chalk white. There was a dark stain of blood on the floor by his side.
Please, please . . .

“Bring a lamp over, Sibeal.” Gull put his hand to the fallen man’s neck, feeling for the rhythm of the heart. My own heart strained to beat for Ardal’s; I sank my teeth into my lip, waiting.

“He’s not done for yet,” Gull said, and I felt tears well in my eyes and flow down my cheeks, welcome as spring rain. “Roll up his left sleeve, will you, Sibeal? I think the blood’s coming from that arm. Ah, yes—a nasty flesh wound here, but it doesn’t look deep. I’ll wrap something around it for now. As for his head—” He moved up, supported Ardal’s neck with one hand, felt the skull gently with the other, under the thick fall of hair. “He’ll have a monstrous headache and a lump like an egg—it’s already swelling—but my opinion is he’ll survive both this and the knife wound. Ardal’s a man on a mission, even if he doesn’t quite know what it is. He’s not going to let something like this stop him. As for Knut, he has some explaining to do, and I don’t think it can wait for morning.”

“Thank you,” I said, scrubbing my cheeks. “Gull, thank you.”
For coming in when you did. For saving us. For being so calm and wise. For telling me Ardal isn’t dead.

“Just wish I’d been quicker. You’d best go for help now. Straight to Johnny. Ask him to bring Gareth and Cathal, and maybe one of the Norse speakers, if someone can be fetched without waking the whole place. I suppose we need to hear both sides of the story, whatever it turns out to be. Likely you’ll find someone on the way here already; that was quite a scream. Enough to put a man off going to the privy by himself at night for a long time.”

I fetched my cloak from my little chamber, then came back through the infirmary. Gull had placed a pillow under Ardal’s head and a blanket over his legs. Ardal was stirring; he muttered something in his own tongue.

“Lie still, son,” Gull said quietly. “You’re hurt. I’m just finding a bit of bandage for your arm, and Sibeal’s off to get Johnny.”

“I’ll be back soon,” I said, trying for a reassuring tone and managing a strangled croak.

As I moved to the door, Ardal spoke. The sound of it stopped my heart. It was as if he had opened a window and found himself gazing straight into his worst nightmare. I understood in that moment that at last he had remembered.

“We left them. Gods have mercy on us,
we left them behind
.”

CHAPTER 9

~Sibeal~

T
hey went to find shelter, to find a safe place—if he hadn’t come back early—they wouldn’t listen—when Paul tried to—”

After the long silence, now the words were pouring out of Ardal like water from a broken dam. He couldn’t keep still. Despite the knife wound, which Gull had bandaged—Evan would stitch it later, by daylight—he would not sit down, but paced and gestured, his body possessed by a restless energy. He was making very little sense.

I had hammered on Johnny’s door, glad that he and Gareth had their own hut, since the alternative would have meant waking everyone in the men’s quarters. Gareth had gone to fetch Kalev and Cathal, while Johnny and I returned to the infirmary. By the time we got there Knut had regained consciousness, and both Evan and Muirrin had arrived, drawn by my scream.

Once the other men had come in Johnny ordered that Knut’s bonds be untied. The Norseman seemed as desperate to explain himself as Ardal was, but Johnny silenced him.

“You’ll get the chance to speak, Knut. Hold your tongue until I tell you it’s time. And don’t move unless you want to be tied up again.”

“But—”

“You heard me.”

Kalev and Gareth stationed themselves on either side of Knut. Cathal came over to stand behind me, near the fire.

Ardal was still talking. “ . . . and we left them there. Paul tried—he tried, but—” He made a wild gesture with his good arm, missing Gull’s nose by a hair’s breadth. “I must go, I must go straightaway—they may still be alive—”

“Ardal,” Johnny said, stepping forward to put his hands on the other man’s shoulders, “we want to hear your story. But not like this, in bits and pieces. Take a deep breath and sit down.”

“I cannot—I—”

“That’s an order,” Johnny said. “Sit there beside Gull and don’t get up until I give you permission.”

Ardal sat, agitation written all over his face. “My name is Felix,” he said in strangled tones.

I fought the urge to go over and put my arms around him. I stayed where I was, on the other bench beside Muirrin and Evan. The best way to help him was to stay calm. I did not feel very calm at all.

Johnny nodded. “Very well, Felix. We need your story, and it’s clear you no longer wish to hold it back. But first things first. I want a plain and truthful account of what just happened in here. Sibeal, let’s hear your version of events.”

I stood up, thinking the occasion demanded it, and found I was trembling. Clutching my hands together, I gave an account of what I had experienced—the sudden waking, knowing something was wrong; coming through the doorway to see the shadowy figures locked in struggle; the realization that Knut was trying to kill Ardal. Felix. I would have to get used to that. I told of my attempt to intervene, and Knut flinging me to the floor. I did not speak of what I had
felt
: the two men’s tumult of dark emotions. “I . . . created a distraction, with the fire. Knut lost his grip on Ardal. Then I—I spoke to Knut, I accused him . . . He said no, I was mistaken. He was angry. I thought he was about to hurt one of us, perhaps both of us.” My voice shook.

“Take your time, Sibeal,” Johnny said.

I drew a steadying breath and went on. “Ardal moved in front of me and Knut slashed at him.” I would never forget that. In the face of Knut’s knife and his murderous eyes, Ardal had used his body to shield mine without a second thought. So quick. So brave. He would have died for me.

“And then Gull came in,” I said. “I didn’t see the next part, I was helping Ardal—Felix—but Gull hit Knut, and Knut fell. Gull told me to bring the rope and go for help, and I did.”

“Thank you, Sibeal. Please sit down.” Johnny turned to Gull. “Is that an accurate account, Gull?”

“Sounds about right to me,” Gull said. “I was in the privy when I heard Sibeal call out. When I came in Ar—Felix was facing Knut with Sibeal behind him. Knut used his knife; Felix went down. The situation being what it was, I disabled Knut.” He glanced at the Norseman. There was no judgment in his eyes. As was the pattern of things on Inis Eala, everyone would be heard before any determination of guilt or innocence was made. “Felix was hurt, maybe Sibeal as well. Someone had to go for help. So I gave Knut a tap on the jaw, just enough to put him out of action so we could tie him. Once I had reassured her that Felix would live to see the sun rise, Sibeal was prepared to go and fetch you.” Gull smiled at me, then was somber again. “Felix has a bruise on his neck—show them, Felix. A man who puts pressure on that particular spot knows what he’s about. His intention is to kill, quickly, efficiently, silently. If there hadn’t been a seer in the next room, Felix wouldn’t have lived to tell us his story. His killer could have come in, done the deed and left again before I got back from the privy. Such a man would think, perhaps, that I wouldn’t notice my charge was dead until he failed to wake for his breakfast. That, of course, is not fact but theory.”

“It is not important now—none of this matters—there are men in need, men suffering, I must go there—”

“Enough.” There was a certain voice, a very quiet voice, that I imagined made even the most hard-bitten of Johnny’s warriors take heed. Johnny used it now, and Felix fell silent, but the tension in him had me on the edge of my seat, full of unease. “Perhaps it’s better if Felix goes to rest now, and gives us his story in the morning,” Johnny added. “Evan? Muirrin?”

“No!” Felix shouted, springing to his feet and suppressing a sound of pain. “You must hear my tale tonight! There are lives in the balance!”

“You seem in no fit state to tell it,” Johnny said.

“I’ve a suggestion,” Gull put in quietly. “Let Sibeal ask the questions, and the rest of you back off a bit. It’s quite plain that Felix needs to tell this now. But the man’s been through hell. Anyone who can’t see that on his face must be half blind.”

It made sense. Who could be relied upon to be calm and even-handed, if not a druid? And if Ardal—Felix, I must think of him as Felix—trusted anyone here, it was me. But to do this with all of them watching, to do it with Knut only a few paces away, Knut with his jaw clenched tight and his eyes glinting and the anger building in him with every speech that Kalev translated . . . I must view this as a test of inner strength.

“Please,” Felix said. “Please hear me.”

Words burst from Knut, a torrent of furious Norse.

“Knut objects to this idea,” Kalev said. “He believes that because of Sibeal’s attachment to this man, she cannot be impartial. She will persuade you all to believe Felix’s story over his, no matter how outrageous it may be. No doubt he has already told her this tale, and she has instantly taken it as truth, as a woman does whose feelings hold her in thrall. This man is a liar, a manipulator. Knut offers his respect to you, Johnny, and asks if this can wait for morning, so it can be heard before a representative group from the island community.” He cleared his throat, looking down at the floor. “I translate exactly what Knut has said.”

Johnny turned quite slowly to face Knut. He addressed him in measured Norse. When he was done, he said, “I’ve told Knut I’ll hear his story before Felix’s—that will give Felix time to compose himself. I’ve made it quite clear that I believe we have a representative group here tonight and, in addition, that I have gathered this particular group because I have complete trust in each member of it. Knut does not understand, perhaps, what it means to be a druid.” He looked at me, and I saw the ghost of a smile cross his lips, gone almost as soon as it had appeared. “Lastly, I explained again what the agitation of the moment may have caused some people to forget. On Inis Eala, I am leader and the final decision on any weighty matter is mine alone.” He looked at Kalev. “Kalev, please ask Knut to give his version of what happened tonight. Tell him to stick to the facts and to keep it brief. He can start by telling us why he was in the infirmary at night, carrying a weapon.”

I did not watch Knut as he gave his story, and I did not watch Kalev as he translated it. My eyes were on the man we now knew as Felix, and my heart felt the force of what was in him: grief, guilt, horror, anger. A desperate need to act, so desperate that it came close to driving him mad. It was taking every bit of strength he could summon to stay seated there beside Gull, and not to speak. I willed him to look at me, and he did. A face drained of color. Eyes full of demons. Mouth a grim line, jaw as tight as Knut’s. Hands in white-knuckled fists. If ever a man needed the comfort of touch, it was this man, now. I ached to wrap my arms around him and tell him everything would be all right. I longed to feel his heart beating against me. Gods, now I was blushing; my cheeks were hot. What would he think?
Stop this, Sibeal; it is completely inappropriate
.

There was one sign I could give him, and I did. As unobtrusively as I could, I crossed the first fingers of each hand, one straight, one slantwise, to make the rune
Nyd
: inner strength, courage in the face of the impossible. I held this only for a moment, for I had no wish to provide Knut with another reason to doubt my impartiality. Felix would need help to get through his account, and I was the best one to give it. As my hands returned to my lap, Felix unclenched his fists and made with his two hands the rune
Ken
, the torch. Light in the darkness.

Knut spoke with vehemence, illustrating his account with gestures. Kalev’s translation was much calmer. “That man”—Felix—“has been spreading lies about me, dangerous lies. Yes, I came here to frighten him. Yes, I waited outside until Gull was out of the way. No disrespect to Gull, a fine warrior, a man of heart, but it is a standing joke among the men here that he’s up to the privy three or four times every night. My intention was not to kill. I always carry the knife. Where I come from, a man would be a fool to go about by night with no weapon at the ready. I did not expect that the girl would wake and come in. I am sure I made no sound at all. My intention was to give this man a fright, a warning that he must stop spreading his evil stories. He paints me as a bad man to cover for his own failings. He wants me sent away. I have done nothing wrong, nothing. He is a meddler. He speaks nothing but lies.”

“Kalev,” Johnny said, “remind Knut that I said stick to the facts. You wanted to frighten Felix, you said. How did you do this?”

Knut stood with hands on hips, the bruise from Gull’s blow darkening on the fair skin of his face. “I pressed my fingers against his neck, there, where he has a mark.” He was making no effort to conceal the hostility in his eyes as he looked at Felix. Those eyes said plainly:
You should be dead.
“Not to kill. Why would I kill here on Inis Eala, such a good place? I wished only to scare him, to teach him a lesson. The girl ran in, got in the way, fell down. The man fell. Everything was mixed up, hard to see in the dark, shouting and commotion. When I tried to help, the girl thought I would attack her. She called me a murderer. Why would I do that, attack a helpless woman? In the confusion, the man was hurt. An accident.” When Kalev had rendered this, Knut added, “Gull hit me, and I saw no more. I am grateful that he did not hit me harder.” He favored Gull with what looked like a grin of genuine admiration.

“Thank you, Kalev,” Johnny said. “Ask Knut if he has anything further to say. I don’t want his opinion on Felix or Sibeal or anything about the situation, only facts.”

A brief interchange. “Knut says he has given his account, and he thanks you for your fairness. Not every leader would have allowed him to explain, given the circumstances.”

“Tell Knut he can sit down.”

Knut seated himself on the stool by the pallet. Kalev and Gareth remained standing, one on either side of him.

“We’re ready for Felix’s account, Sibeal,” Johnny said. “What is the best way to do this?”

Trust your instincts
, said my inner voice. I moved to sit on the rug before the fire, not far from Felix’s bare feet. Breathing steadily, I blocked out my awareness of the others in the chamber, concentrating on the man beside me, and Gull seated next to him like a wise guardian. “Tell me what just happened, Felix,” I said, as if the three of us were exchanging tales before bedtime. I felt the warmth of the fire; I saw its light flicker strangely in Felix’s eyes, flame on dark water. “Start from the moment when you woke up, before I came in.”

“But this is not—”

I reached up and put my hand over his, on his knee. “I know the other part is more important for you,” I said, “but you must tell this part first. Remember that you are among friends.”

“I was sleeping. I heard—I heard—at first, the creak as Gull went out. I heard this without waking. Then suddenly the hand was on my neck, the fingers pressing—I knew it was Knut. Who else could it be?”

I asked the question before anyone else could. “How did you know who it was? Could you see him?”

“I was barely awake, and the light was dim . . . I knew because he had threatened me before. Said he would kill me if I told the story of our past. I knew, as the fingers pressed down, as I felt my heart jump and my breath falter, that he had come to carry out his threat. But I have said nothing. I have spread no stories about him, good or ill. There was nothing to say. Until tonight, all I could remember about this man was that he boarded
Freyja
as a crewman.”