Seer of Sevenwaters (34 page)

I had no idea what Cathal meant, but I saw Felix incline his head courteously, as if accepting the apology, and I saw the warmth in his eyes as he met Cathal’s dark gaze. “Thank you,” he said simply.

“It’s late,” Johnny said, rising to his feet. “We all need sleep. I will call a meeting in the morning. I will consider what’s been said and come to a decision. Felix, you look like a ghost. You must rest. You, too, Sibeal.” He looked at Knut, who had risen and stood flanked by the taller Kalev and Gareth. A sheen of sweat covered the Norseman’s fair skin. His eyes were restless; his fingers twisted the strip of hide that held the runic talisman around his neck. “Gareth, Kalev, take Knut to the small chamber at the end of the men’s quarters,” Johnny said. “He’ll sleep there tonight, and I want a guard on his door. Wake Niall. You two need your sleep. Knut, you’ll have one of my men with you at all times during daylight hours until this is sorted out. Stay away from Felix and from Sibeal. Is that understood?”

Knut shifted his feet. He muttered something.

Kalev stifled a yawn as he translated. “He says, perhaps the story is not quite as he told it.”

I was still on the mat by the fire, my hand in Felix’s. I felt him start, as if a shock had gone through his body.

“Be quick.” Johnny’s face was like stone.

“In part, his story was true,” Knut said. “There was another island, far north. The storm, the bay, the monster . . . it is accurate enough. I did not think you would believe it, so I said nothing of it. No man likes to be called a liar.”

These words hung in the air, a judgment he had brought on himself.

“Anything further?” Johnny’s tone was even and quiet. He gave no indication of what he was thinking.

“Svala,” Knut said, looking down at his boots. “She is not my wife, not in the way folk mean the term, but . . . ”

“But what?” Gareth asked, an edge in his voice. Everyone was weary, and whatever transpired, tomorrow would be full of fresh demands.

“She was alone on the island, naked and beautiful on the shore. All alone, abandoned there in that grim place. A woman, on her own, without shelter, without the means to make fire, without even a shred of clothing. How can anyone believe she wants to go back there? Such a place is home to nothing but crabs and shellfish. I could not leave her there, at the mercy of that monster. So I saved her, rescued her. She is mine, my wife in all aspects but the law, and that can be made good. With me she has shelter, food, companionship, all a woman needs from her man. I provide for her, I keep her safe. Most men would not trouble with a woman who was . . . ” He did not make his gesture again, the one that meant
crazy
,
out of her wits
, but his meaning was clear.

“So you lied,” said Johnny.

“You would not have believed me. It sounds like a wild invention. There was no need for anyone to know this, no need at all. He only made trouble telling it—”

“And the child?” asked Johnny.

Knut hesitated. I wondered if he was weighing up the odds: better to tell the unpalatable truth now or somehow to perpetuate the lie? “There was no child,” he muttered.

“Why would you invent such a story?” asked Muirrin, clearly shocked. “Were the losses from
Freyja
not enough for you, that you had to embroider them?”

“Svala,” Knut said. “Crazy. Unpredictable. I thought . . . I thought, without a good reason for such wildness, you would not let her stay here. I thought you would quickly send us away.”

“I have another question for you,” Johnny said, and the perilous quiet of his tone frightened even me. “Did you attempt to kill Felix tonight to stop him from telling this story?”

“No! Not to kill, only to warn him. I heard Sam talking; at supper, he was saying something about an island and a monster. How could he know this, save from Felix? I did not want the story told. I confess, it shows me in a bad light, and I . . . But I would not have killed him. Why would I do that? I came to give him a fright, to make sure he held his tongue, that was all.”

“Sam,” I said, seeing how it had been. “Brenna must have spoken to Sam about what I told the others earlier.” I turned to Knut. “Brenna didn’t learn the story from Felix,” I said. “She learned it from Svala, through me. What Gull said was true. Until you attacked Felix and he hit his head, he had no memory of this.”

Knut opened his mouth and shut it again. Nobody said a word. Johnny made a motion with his head, indicating that Gareth and Kalev should go, and they left with the Norseman between them. Cathal made his good nights and followed.

“Evan,” said Gull, “whatever transpires from this, tell me I can give Felix something other than soup tonight, will you? It’s going to be hard enough for him to sleep, after this.”

“You can try him on bread and milk. Don’t get up, Father. I’ll fetch it.” Evan looked at the exhausted, pallid Felix where he sat slumped on the bench beside Gull. I could imagine what my brother-in-law was thinking. At every turn, Felix had spoken of the rescue expedition as an enterprise in which he himself would take part. That looked nigh impossible.

“Muirrin,” I said as she and Evan went out, “thank you for speaking up.”

My sister smiled. “There’s no need to thank me for the truth, Sibeal.”

Then there were only Johnny, Gull, Felix and me left in the infirmary. I had expected Johnny to leave promptly. It was the middle of the night, and with the Connacht men on the island, he must be up early. But my cousin sat on awhile, deep in thought.

“You mean to go, whatever happens,” he said eventually, his eyes on Felix, assessing. “On your own, if it comes to that. Weak, sick, not much of a sailor, not much of a fighter, you would still do it. I can’t make up my mind whether you’re the bravest man I’ve ever met, or the maddest.”

Felix had begun to shake; whether it was from the relief of tension or sheer exhaustion, I did not know. To remember, to tell the story, to be half-believed—it was a great deal in one night. Not to speak of the fact that Knut had almost killed him. I knelt up beside him, holding both his hands in mine. Gull laid his cloak around Felix’s shoulders. Perhaps Felix did not look like much of a hero right now, but to me he seemed a beacon of courage, a lamp of truth.

“He must go,” I said to Johnny. “I know it can’t happen until
Liadan
gets back, and perhaps not for a while even then. But when it’s time, the runes have told us that Felix must be part of the rescue.” I remembered my divinations, both of them pointing to a mission the two of us would undertake together. I recalled Felix’s voice, soft and sure as he called me the flaming torch that led him forward. I saw in my mind Svala’s vision of the two of us, she and I, rowing a little boat across a trackless ocean and into the north. “Svala must go as well,” I said. “And so must I.”

CHAPTER 10

~Felix~

I
have so longed to eat a proper meal. Now I scarcely taste the wedge of bread, the cup of watered goat’s milk. My mind is reeling. A trap; fate has laid a trap for me. Sibeal’s words froze my heart. I saw on Johnny’s face, and on Gull’s, the same horror. I cannot argue with the runes. But Sibeal out in those seas, Sibeal in that godforsaken place, Sibeal in the claws of the monster . . . I see how it would be, and I shrink from it, body and mind. What if, in my desperate quest to save my companions, I draw my most precious friend, my light, my treasure, to a hideous, bloody death? I would die rather than see her hurt.

If I do not go, she need not go. But I must go. I must do my best to put right the evil thing that was done. If the least chance exists that any man still clings to life on that isle, I must find him. I must bring him home.

There was death in the runes. I did not think it might be hers.

“Eat up,” says Gull, yawning. “We must at least attempt sleep before dawn, and you’ll rest better with some good food inside you.”

I cannot say what I am thinking. I cannot tell Sibeal I do not want her to come. The runes do not lie. To question them is to doubt her integrity as a seer. “Do you think he will do it?” I ask instead. “Will he help me?”

“Only Johnny can answer that,” says Gull. “He believes you, all right; I could see that, though he won’t say so plainly until he’s decided how to proceed. As a leader of fighting men, Johnny’s made his share of tough decisions. He won’t put his men in peril for a hopeless cause, however desperately you need that to happen. Say he does decide to go ahead with a rescue attempt for these poor fellows. Nothing much can be done before
Liadan
gets back. Then there’s the matter of a crew. I’d expect him to ask for volunteers, and not all men will be free to put their hands up. Johnny himself won’t go, for a multitude of reasons. Cathal can’t go. Not only is his wife about to give birth to their first child, but there are certain factors that bind him to Inis Eala. It’s not safe for him beyond the island. Any man who’s tied up in training the Connacht men must stay here while our visitors are with us. That rules out quite a few of the most capable among us. Johnny won’t let such an expedition set out unless he’s convinced the crew’s adequate to the task. He’d be asking people to put themselves in great peril. Not that the fellows here are averse to risk, but this . . . ”

He sighed and took a mouthful of his ale. “If only we could know whether anyone’s survived. To be honest, Felix, I don’t like the prospect of losing good men over this. Especially not if it turns out to be a fool’s errand, with your comrades already fallen prey to cold or starvation or this creature. That’s a little blunt, maybe, but I have to say it.”

“You think we should not attempt this?” Gull’s doubt unsettles me further; I feel sick.

“I didn’t say that, lad. If you want my honest opinion, I think there will be enough men willing to form a crew of sorts. But if I were Johnny, I’d be wanting more certainty.” He glances at Sibeal, who has moved to sit on the bench opposite the two of us, her ale cup between her palms. Her eyes are wide and watchful in the firelight.

“I could cast the runes again,” she says, “but I believe they would show the same message as before. I could scry, posing a question about survivors. I might see a vision of men on the serpent isle, but I wouldn’t know if I was looking at past, present or future, or whether the images meant something other than what they showed. If you want certainty, I cannot provide it. Only hope. Only my conviction that this is the right thing to do, for you, Felix, for Svala, for those men you left. Even for Knut.”

“Why do you say that?” I ask.

“Because every man must at some point confront the truth about himself. I still don’t understand why Knut told so many lies.”

“It’s a shock.” Gull’s tone reflects this; he is upset. He befriended Knut. He liked the man. “Maybe he started with one lie, and ended up trapped in a whole web of them.”

“His explanation for bringing Svala with him sounded reasonable—she was alone on that wild, rugged island, he thought to protect her—but . . . ” Sibeal hesitates. “In the light of your story, I recalled a much earlier vision, from the first time I visited the seer’s cave. I think Knut may have removed Svala from that island by force. If that’s true, if he abducted her, then we’ve done her a terrible wrong by accepting Knut’s story. She’s been with him in that cottage, alone, perhaps unwilling . . . ”

This shocks me. I can think of nothing to say.

“I hope you’re wrong, Sibeal,” Gull says. “Svala has seemed content enough in Knut’s company on those few occasions when she’s come out in public. She’s somewhat withdrawn, certainly. But who knows what happened to her before the ship reached that island? Maybe she was the only survivor of some earlier voyage. That would be enough to drive the most reasonable woman half out of her wits.”

“Content,” echoes Sibeal. “No, Gull, she’s far from content. But she has no words to explain, and that makes her angry. Several times she has tried to show me her story, and I’ve failed to understand anything save how miserable and frustrated she is. She’s different when Knut is not with her. Stronger. Braver. Angrier. When he comes close she shrinks into herself, like a creature hiding in a shell. I think she’s scared of him.”

I finish my scant meal in silence, pondering this, remembering the wan, limp creature who shared the hold with us on the difficult journey back from the serpent isle. She was neither strong nor brave. She sat huddled in a corner, and any time I went down there she shrank away from me, covering her face with her hands. At night she wept, disturbing our already patchy sleep. I recalled Knut talking to her in an undertone once or twice. Sick, exhausted and disturbed as I was, with my brother beside me in fetters and Matha moaning with pain, I did not take as much notice as I should have done.

“I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep at all,” Sibeal says. “Felix, I’m happy that you were able to tell your story at last, and sad that it is such a terrible one. But now we can act. We can do what the gods bid us do.” She smiles, her face pallid with weariness, and I manage a smile in return. The weight of what lies unspoken is heavy on me.

“You’d best go to bed and shut your eyes awhile, at least,” Gull tells her. “I predict a long and tiring day tomorrow. As for you, Felix, if you really intend to be part of this, if it goes ahead, it’ll be a race to get you strong enough in time. Hard work for the two of us.”

I murmur a response. The magnitude of this mission is daunting. I try not to dwell on what might go wrong, what lives might be lost, what new burdens my quest might lay on the shoulders of these good people. That way lies madness.

“Sibeal,” Gull says quietly. “You realize, I presume, that despite the authority you carry as a druid, your kinsmen will balk at the idea of your undertaking a venture such as this. In saying the gods intend you to go, you make Johnny’s decision especially difficult.”

“I must follow the will of the gods,” Sibeal says, her voice clear and sure. “It was plain in the runes that the two of us would undertake this together. I mean Felix and me. I believe that if we do not both go, and Svala as well, the mission cannot succeed. I can’t be more plain than that.”

“You may have trouble convincing Johnny,” muttered Gull. “I’m glad it’s not my decision. Think what your father would say, if he knew. Or Ciarán.”

“I’m a grown woman,” says Sibeal calmly. “And since neither Father nor Ciarán can be consulted in time, there is no point in wondering what they might think.”

Gull grins, but I see the concern in his eyes. “Ah, well, that’s for the morning,” he says. “Felix, do you need to go to the privy before bed?”

I shake my head. He goes; I stay. There is time to speak to Sibeal alone: brief, precious time. I can find no words. We stand facing each other. She reaches out her hands. When I take them, they seem swallowed by mine. She is made small and fine in every particular.

“You lived up to the name I gave you,” she says, fixing her lovely eyes on mine. “You were brave, and you’ll go on being brave, no matter what happens. We can do this, Felix. We will do it.”

Now I have too many words, and none of them can be spoken.
I don’t want you to go. You might die, and I couldn’t bear that.
Or worse,
I love you, Sibeal. I wish from the bottom of my heart that you were not a druid.
Say that, and I will lose her friendship forever. Besides, it is only half true. Her faith is part of her; part of what makes her so remarkable.

“Sibeal,” I ask, “what happened with the fire, when Knut was attacking me? What did you do?”

An odd little smile curves her lips. “I wasn’t sure anyone noticed. Druid magic; elemental magic. I’ve never used it before outside the nemetons. Ciarán taught me. Though, of course, his skill goes far beyond mine.”

“Of course.” Jealousy flares up in me, deluded fool that I am. Who could compete with this beloved mentor, this much-revered teacher, this magical, brilliant kinsman of whom she speaks so frequently? I am no more than a wandering interpreter, a younger son whose inability to comply with rules led his whole family into danger and caused his brother’s death. I think perhaps I hate this Ciarán.

“Felix?”

I have stood in angry silence while she watched me. I relax my grip on her hands, loosen my tight jaw, make myself breathe.

“What’s wrong?” Sibeal’s voice is like water fresh from the mountains, clear and sweet. Hearing it, I cannot hold on to my anger. Perhaps I should wish Ciarán was here. If
he
tried to stop her, as any reasonable man surely would, perhaps she would take heed.

“Felix?” she says again, lifting her brows.

“Sibeal, I wish—no, never mind. You should go to your bed. It’s halfway to dawn already.”

Sibeal is watching me closely. She knows I am avoiding something. My mouth stretches in a yawn. There is no artifice in this. I am bone weary.

“I’ll bid you good night, then,” she says.

“Good night, Sibeal.” I hope she cannot see in my eyes how much I want to put my arms around her and feel the warmth of her lips against mine. To press her body close; to touch her. I release her hands and step back politely to let her go past me.

Halfway to her little chamber, she turns to look over her shoulder. “Felix is Latin, isn’t it? Does it mean
the happy one
, or something like that?”

I feel my mouth twist, but I am not smiling. “Joyful,” I say. “It means joyful. Sleep safely, Sibeal.”

“You, too. Dream of home. Remember, Paul is close by, watching over you. He would be proud of what you’ve done tonight.”

I bow my head, lest she see that my eyes have filled with tears.

~Sibeal~

Sleep was elusive. I lay with eyes closed, breathing slowly. When I judged it to be almost dawn, I got up, dressed and went outside. From the infirmary proper there was no sound of movement, and I hoped both Gull and Felix were sleeping.

I walked to the place of the boat burial, where nine drowned men lay under their earthen mound. Grass was already starting to creep up over it. The place was serene and quiet in the morning light. I sat on the ground, thinking of the nightmare voyage those men had endured, and how cruel it was that on the very point of reaching the home shore again, the crew had fallen victim to the wild seas and the wind. I considered the long reach of Mac Dara.

“Paul,” I murmured, “your brother is going back there. He’s going to save the men whom you were forced to leave behind. Be proud of Felix. Now that you are gone, he has to take the lead himself, and he’s not used to that. Help me watch over him, if you can. You were the best and most loyal of brothers. He loves you and misses you.”

I stayed there awhile as the sun rose slowly in the sky, and the community of Inis Eala awoke and began its daily business. Men went down toward the jetty. A girl drove a small herd of goats out of one walled field and into another. Folk moved between sleeping quarters and dining hall; between dining hall and practice yard. After some time I got up and headed back, taking a roundabout way that would give me a view of the main bay and the fisherman’s cottage where Knut and Svala were housed. He would not be there, of course, but she might. Some time soon, someone must try to explain to her what was planned. That task would most likely fall to me.

The fishing boat was out in the bay, trailing nets. The little cottage close to the water’s edge had its door standing open, but there was no sign of Svala. Perhaps she had been worried when her husband did not come back last night. Perhaps she had been relieved.

My gaze moved to the jetty and I narrowed my eyes. Was that Fang down there, Fang who had been behaving so oddly, and who had not come in at all last night? She was hunkered down at the very end, apparently staring out across the water. There was something very strange about that frozen position. Was the little dog hurt?

I made my way down, feeling obliged to check that all was well. I stopped a few paces away from the dog, crouched down and spoke to her quietly. “Fang?” And when there was no response, “Come here, little one.” I clicked my fingers, and her ears twitched. “Good girl. Come on. Breakfast.”