Seer of Sevenwaters (47 page)

“Where did it come from, Donn?” Felix asked. He had his arm around young Colm’s shoulders; the lad was ashen, his memories close to the surface. Getting him through the subterranean passage would not be easy.

“Fiac found it down by the shore,” said the third survivor. “He made us bring it up so we could keep warm. We slept under it every night. Would have died, if not for that, all of us one by one. Fiac died anyway. His dreams sent him mad. Fell down the drop.” His expression was impassive, his tone flat. Perhaps he had seen so much that he was beyond feeling anything.

“Time to go, lads.” Berchan nodded at Donn and the two of them headed out together. Felix followed, shepherding Colm. The last of the others went after them, leaving only Cathal and me.

“Danu, look kindly on this place,” I murmured. “Accept our thanks for the shelter it provided when men were in trouble. May the breath of the gods purify it; may the soft voice of the waterfall bring peace once more. May it be cleansed of all sorrows. May this be holy ground.”

The first part of the tunnel was not so bad. Light came down through chinks and holes high above, showing us where to put our feet on the uneven, often slippery rock floor. The way was narrow in places and we were slowed by the stretcher, which was hard to get around corners. I could hear Felix coughing. I prayed that he might not fall sick again. For I could see a possible future that would be the stuff of a grand and tragic tale, and the thought of it chilled me to the bone.

Donn seemed in the best health of the three we had rescued. He made a resolute effort to walk without support, and managed well, though his pace was slow. Berchan stayed beside him. Felix was still with Colm. Donn was grimly silent, all his energy concentrated on moving forward. Colm was talking: a stream of words flowed from him, as if, now that the rescue party was here at last, he must release all he had held bottled within him during those long, lonely days and nights. He spoke about the monster, about seeing men die, about coming back down to the shore to find
Freyja
gone, about how Fiac’s body had been wedged in a crevice further down the chasm and how they could not reach it, and how the gulls had come, and—

“Shut up, Colm,” grunted Donn, and, much to my relief, the boy fell silent.

The passage began to slope gradually downward, and it grew darker. In these lower reaches there were fewer apertures up above. Perhaps, outside, the sun was already setting.

We reached the water. It stretched ahead into darkness. On the left side of the tunnel was a ledge perhaps two steps wide, at the height of a tall man’s head.

“Which is it?” Cathal asked, looking at Gull. “If you’re right about it being shallow all the way, wading will be easier and probably safer. But we don’t want to be caught down here if the tide comes in.”

“If we’re going up on that ledge, we’ll be leaving the stretcher behind,” said one of the bearers. They had laid the sick man down at the water’s edge, and were flexing their arms and rubbing their shoulders. “Thorgrim here will have to go on someone’s back.”

“How long have we got?” Sigurd asked. “Are you sure about the tide, Gull?”

“I’m sure. Provided we go straight through, we’ll be well out the far end and up on the rocks before it reaches knee deep, even on Sibeal.” Gull gave me a searching look, as if remembering belatedly that I was not one of Johnny’s warriors. “All right?”

“I’m fine.” If there was an edge in my voice, it was due less to the anticipation of a wet, dark wade to a tenuous kind of safety, as to some other unease whose cause I could not quite identify. It made sense, all of it—the rescued men were weak and tired, the tunnel was the quickest way back, Gull knew the tides . . . So why did this feel so horribly wrong? “I just . . . no, it’s all right, it’s nothing.” I could not expect these men to wait while I spent precious time going over my vague doubts and half-formed anxieties. “What is it to be, the ledge or the water?”

“The water,” Cathal said. “Move steadily ahead, and don’t rush it. I don’t want anyone injured. We can get through.” He glanced at the others. “Sigurd and Oschu, you go first.” Both were tall men. “Stretcher-bearers next, and remember that you’ll be carrying Thorgrim all the way through before you can put him down. Keep him out of the water; a cold bath is the last thing he needs. Felix, you look after Sibeal. Sibeal, stay close to him. Gull, you go behind them. The rest of you with Donn and Colm, and I’ll come last. Ready?”

We moved on. The passage grew darker, the water gradually deeper. I hitched up my skirt, not so much to keep it dry—it had hung in clammy folds for the best part of our journey—as to make wading easier. The ground was treacherous, and often it was only Felix’s steady hand that stopped me from falling headlong. My mind began to fill with craven thoughts, thoughts unworthy of a druid, even one who had not yet made her final promise.
I wish we had a lamp. What is that rustling sound? I want to go home.

“Take heart, beloved,” said Felix. He spoke softly, for my ears only, but in the stillness of the underground passage, it carried clearly.

My cheeks were hot. I had not spoken a word, but he had heard me. He had heard what I would not say:
I’m scared
.

I squeezed his hand. In my mind I said,
I love you
.

As if in response to my fear, the tunnel turned a corner and the darkness was relieved. A chink high above admitted a ray of dim light, as welcome as rain after drought.

“Back up!” Sigurd’s shout turned my blood to ice. We backed a few paces.

“What is it?” Cathal came past me, heading for the front of the line. I clutched Felix’s hand and peered forward into the shadows. “Sigurd, what—”

A pair of great eyes gleamed ahead, familiar eyes, bright in the gloom. Behind the eyes, the monster’s body filled the tunnel. There would be no going past. The eyes drew me. I saw the wild beauty of them, the myriad colors in their depths, the unshed tears of sorrow. I thought . . . I almost thought . . .

The creature opened its jaws wide. Its long white teeth caught the filtered light as it drew breath. It roared. The sound rang from every surface, powerful as thunder. I clapped my hands over my ears. Colm was crouched down in the water, his arms curled over his head, his whole body shaking. The men with the stretcher staggered in shock, almost dropping Thorgrim. The roaring went on and on. It set a vibration through every part of me. My heart raced; my head throbbed. I closed my eyes.

Nothing was right, he’d thought it was right, she came back, it should have been the way it was before, but something was gone, something was missing, and now he would weep, he would rave, he would blast his sadness into the depths of the earth until the whole island burst with it. He would destroy these outsiders, these puny creatures that dared steal her away, and brought her back incomplete . . .

There was only one thing to do. I let go of Felix’s hand and moved forward. Past the stretcher-bearers and the pallid Thorgrim. Up beside Sigurd, Oschu and Cathal. I took another step.

“No, Sibeal!” hissed Cathal, grabbing my arm and holding me back. “What are you doing?”

The creature had quieted, though the roaring still rang from the rocky surfaces. Its strange eyes were fixed on me now. Deep, distant eyes. Eyes that held the stone and the sky, the wind and the waves, the lonely beauty of a far place, a fortress and refuge. Wildness. Wisdom. Eyes like Svala’s.

CHAPTER 13

~Sibeal~

L
et go, Cathal,” I said, as my mind put together the pieces. “If you want us to get through unharmed, let me do this.”

“No, Sibeal! This is crazy!”

“Let her go, Cathal.” Felix and Gull spoke with one voice.

Cathal released me, muttering an oath. I moved forward again. I looked up. I concentrated all my will on the serpent. In my mind, I formed a clear, simple message.
I can help you.
For in those eyes I had seen the solution. I had realized, at last, what Svala had been so desperate to tell me.

Quick as a heartbeat the creature moved, scooping me up in its forepaw and lifting me toward its face. My stomach lurched. So close! I could smell its breath. I could see the tears in its great eyes. Its skin was made up of glimmering eight-sided scales. Its claws closed around me, making a neat cage. There was a sliding sound as several knives were drawn out of their sheaths.

“Tell them no, Cathal,” I called. “No weapons.” My voice was weak and shaky; it would not do. I had never negotiated with a sea beast before. I hoped it would be the only time. It was not a job for a fainting, weeping girl. It was a task for a druid.

I lay down on its palm; it was cold and smooth. I slowed my breathing. In my mind, I made an image of Svala standing tall and proud on the shore at Inis Eala, her perfect form clad only in the gold cloak of her hair. I showed
Liadan
at anchor in the bay here, and our party searching across the barren landscape. I pictured Knut crouched on the sand with a rope around his ankle. A vibration passed through the serpent’s body, and there was a creak as its claws closed tighter.

But it’s going to be all right
. I made my inner voice calm and strong.
I know what you need and I will fetch it now. I will help you. I am her friend.
I made an image of Svala putting on an item of clothing, somewhere between a cloak and a gown; my imagination could take me no further.

It felt like a long time, but perhaps was not very long at all, before the creature lowered its paw with care, and opened its claws to release me into the shallow water beside Cathal. The others had retreated a short distance up the tunnel.

“Cathal,” I said, “it’s a skin. That thing, that blanket the men were using to keep warm, it’s her skin.”

“You mean—” He fell silent.

“Didn’t they say one of the men found it on the shore after
Freyja
had sailed away? It’s Svala’s—it’s what she wants. I can’t believe it’s taken me so long to work this out. I know dozens of selkie tales. Cathal, we must fetch it here and show him.”

“Him?”

“The creature. I’m sure this is right, Cathal. If I run all the way there and back, maybe we can still get through before the water is too high. This can’t wait for tomorrow.”

Cathal’s eyes passed over the three survivors: Colm now huddled against Gull, sobbing with fear; Donn sheet-white in the gloom; Thorgrim lying limp as if dead on the stretcher, still held above the water by the two stalwart bearers. “You’re saying the rest of us should wait here with that creature breathing in our faces while you run all the way to the cave and back again?”

“That’s what I’m saying.” I had not felt the will of the gods so strongly since the day when I first met Deirdre of the Forest. The runes had not lied. There was a part for me in this mission, and the time for it was now.

“Someone else should go,” Cathal said. “You’ll never carry that thing back on your own. Didn’t you see how big it was?” We stared at each other as the implications of its size sank in.

“I’ll go,” Felix said, moving up beside us. “This is my mission; it is my responsibility. Sibeal and I should go together.”

“No, lad.” Gull spoke, the voice of experience. “If you don’t want to die of an ague on the way home, you’re not going anywhere. Besides, I need you here.” He glanced at the weeping Colm. “Cathal, you go with Sibeal. I’ll keep an eye on things at this end. We’ll lift Thorgrim onto the ledge and cover him up until you get back.” He eyed the creature, which was shifting restlessly, its gaze moving from one man to another as if making a selection. Higher up the tunnel, nearer the cave, I thought the way would be too narrow for the creature to pass. Here, it would be able to move forward and snatch a man in its jaws.

“Sibeal,” Gull said, “if you’ve got some way of talking to our friend here, could you ask it not to eat any of us before you get back? And be quick about it, will you? If anything’s calculated to give me nightmares for the rest of my life, this is surely it.”

I looked into the monster’s eyes and spoke the message in my mind.
I am going now to fetch what you need. Do no harm while I am gone. Wait. Only wait. I am a friend.
I showed him Svala embracing me, her tall form close to engulfing my far slighter one. I showed the serpent’s dance of joy in the bay when we first sailed in and he saw that she had come home. I made a picture of the men waiting in the tunnel, and the serpent sleeping where he was, and Cathal and me coming back, holding the blanket—the skin—between us. Then I stepped away. The creature was quiet. He hunkered down in the shallow water, closing his eyes to slits, but behind them he was watchful.

We ran. I fixed my thoughts on the cave; I concentrated on staying on my feet. Here and there we slowed, and Cathal took my hand to help me. Once or twice we stopped to get our breath back, though Cathal did not seem in the least breathless, only rather paler than usual. We did not waste our energy in talk, for reaching the cave was only half the journey. Eventually we came under the arch and into the space where the lost men had sheltered. Beyond the cave mouth the ravine was dim; it was close to dusk.

I bent to pick up the covering that had kept three men from death all through the lonely days from
Freyja
’s departure to
Liadan
’s arrival.

“By the Dagda’s manhood,” breathed Cathal, “I think you’re right. If this isn’t a skin, I don’t know what it is. Great gods, Sibeal, that poor creature. I wonder if Knut knew what he’d done to her.”

I was examining the skin more closely. It was all in dull duns and grays, and curiously patterned in even, eight-sided shapes. And here, at the very edge, was a damaged patch, as if a clumsy hand had wielded a knife without due care. “He had an idea, at least,” I said. “He cut off a strip of it and put it around his neck—see here, it’s torn at this edge. He hung his lucky charm from it. Not quite the same as taking the whole skin, but enough to keep her under his control, at least while she was far away from here and could not reach the missing part of herself. No wonder she ripped the cord from his neck with such violence. Perhaps it was being close to
him
—the creature, I mean—that made her bold enough at last.”

We regarded each other across the dimming cavern, awestruck by the strangeness of it. Then Cathal said, “You amaze me, Sibeal. You are truly remarkable. Now, how are we going to carry this?”

Inevitably, the way back was slower. We rolled the skin into a long bundle and each carried one end. I went first, setting the quickest pace I could, and Cathal came behind me. It grew darker. It grew so dark that we could not go on with any degree of safety. We came to a halt.

“Sibeal.”

“Mm?”

“Can you make a light? My craft is useless here; I cannot conjure so much as a candle flame to show us the way. So much for my decision to leave Clodagh and join the rescue mission. It seems anyone could have taken my place.”

“I don’t believe that, Cathal. Time will show why your magic is blocked here. There will be some wisdom in it, I’m sure.”

“Not if my father is responsible. Can you do it, Sibeal?”

Elemental magic. I knew the rudiments. I had made the fire flare up on the night Knut attacked Felix. At this moment, I was so weary that only the compulsion of the task was keeping me going.

“I’ll try. Can we put this down for a bit?”

We had not yet reached the water: water that would be deeper now, perhaps much deeper. What would happen when the creature moved? I would not think of that. I would summon my deepest reserves of strength. I would make myself calm and open. I would use what I already had—the last dim trace of day, the little creatures that slithered and scuttered on the tunnel walls, the creepers and crawlers that hid in nooks and crannies. I would use the memory of the men who had perished in that cave and in the ravine, men who had held on as long as they could. I would use the moment when Felix had dived in after Gull, like a flame of pure courage made flesh. I would make light.

I closed my eyes and spoke the words of an ancient charm. I breathed. I sent the warmth of my breath out through the darkness, touching each small penumbral life.
Help us. Help us bring her back.

I heard Cathal’s indrawn breath before I opened my eyes to look. The tunnel was transformed. Myriad points of brightness pierced the gloom. It was as if the stars themselves had come down to guide us on our way. Each was tiny; each was a glow as small as the heartbeat of a fly. Together they revealed the stone floor, the ledge, the high walls and vaulted roof of the passage. Together they illuminated the way forward.

Wordless, we moved on, bearing the great skin carefully between us.
Cathal
, I thought,
you will have an amazing tale to tell your baby son or daughter one day.
Unbidden, a vision came to me. It was the same little house I had seen once before, the same window opening onto trees, the same mellow lamplight over the peaceful interior. I was there, before the hearth. Felix was seated opposite me, restored to perfect health, his color high, his glossy hair tamed by a ribbon at the nape. The child on his knee was older than she had been last time; instead of an infant’s smock she wore a little gown embroidered with owls. Her big eyes were fixed on her father in fascination as he told her a story.
And then your mother walked up to the serpent, right up to it, and it lifted her in its hand.
Our daughter protested,
But Papa, serpents don’t have hands. They are the same as snakes only bigger. Aren’t they?
He smiled.
This one had hands. Hands with long sharp claws. Perhaps it was not so much a serpent as a sea dragon. Your mama is the bravest woman in all Erin.
Our daughter turned her beautiful eyes on me for a moment and said,
I know that, Papa. Tell me what happened next.

The vision began to fade. I stumbled, desperate to keep it, desperate to say,
I love you, I wish with all my heart that you were real, don’t go!
Foolish Sibeal.

“Wait.” Cathal stopped to adjust his grip. “Are you all right?”

“Fine,” I said grimly. “Prey to unhelpful thoughts, that’s all.”

“I know how that feels.”

We reached the water sooner than I expected. Or maybe the water came higher up the tunnel now. We splashed in, our awkward bundle between us. Here, there were fewer of the little lights. My facility for natural magic was limited; beside Ciarán’s it was nothing.

“I told myself I wouldn’t think about Clodagh.” My companion’s voice came to me softly through the half-dark. “But I’ve thought of nothing else, all the way.”

“Hope,” I said. “Leading you forward. The knowledge that home is waiting for you when the mission is over.” Even as I spoke, it came to me that my idea of what
home
meant had changed entirely over this summer. What was waiting for me?

Silence for a while, as we moved on through the water. Now it was almost up to my knees. “I don’t suppose it matters,” I said, “if we get the skin wet.” I imagined the sea creature leaping and diving in the bay, at one with the waves.

“I suppose not.”

The remaining lights were winking out one by one.
I will not be afraid
, I told myself.
It’s much worse for the men waiting than it is for us. All we need do is walk straight ahead and we’ll get there. Even if it’s dark. Even if it’s late. Even if . . .

“Sibeal,” said Cathal.

“Mm?”

“Do you know that song about the lady and the toad?”

“Mm-hm.”

“What, even the rude parts? I’m shocked.”

I smiled, though he could not see it in the darkness. “You’d be surprised what we pick up in the nemetons, Cathal. How shall we do it, one verse each and the chorus together?”

“Sounds fair to me. You start.”

Step by step. Line by line. Verse by increasingly scurrilous verse. When we got to the end of that song we sang another, about the love of a hapless clurichaun for a young lady ten times his size. I’d had no idea Cathal was a singer, or that he possessed sufficient humor to enjoy tunes of this kind, the sort the rowdier inhabitants of Inis Eala liked to sing after a good supper and a few jugs of ale. Gull, now, or Snake, I could imagine participating with some enthusiasm. When the clurichaun had been sent, sobbing his woe, back to his ancestral hill, we started a ballad about a faithless lover. After two verses Cathal stopped singing, leaving me all on my own with the chorus. My voice faltered.