Seer of Sevenwaters (51 page)

On the third morning we assemble on the shore, all of us, waiting to be rowed out to
Liadan
. The weather is calm, the sky cloudless. The men have worked hard, and all is shipshape. It is time.

We board. For a moment all are gathered on the deck, and Gareth steps up before us. His features are grave, and I wonder what he will say. A rallying speech, maybe, or a reminder that while we are at sea, his word is law. But all he says is, “Friends, we’re going home.”

Under oars, we head out to the perilous channel. We catch no glimpse of Sea-Father and the Golden Queen, but as we pass through the narrow, high-walled passage, I sense their large eyes on us. We emerge to open sea. A kindly wind fills
Liadan
’s sails, and she makes a course to the south, and Inis Eala.

CHAPTER 14

~Sibeal~

W
e had made the voyage from Inis Eala to the serpent isle in five days. The homeward trip took much longer. We were not harried by storms or driven off course by howling gales; quite the opposite. After one day’s brisk sailing, nature decided to remind us that it was summer. The clouds departed. The air warmed. The winds took a rest. We floated, trailing our new sea anchor, for six days before a northerly came up. The crew raised
Liadan
’s sail, the square of woolen cloth bellied out, and to the accompaniment of cheers, we headed for home.

I had been seasick only for the first day or two. After that I kept myself busy helping Gull tend to Thorgrim. Indeed, I kept myself very busy. I managed to present an outer shell of calm, lending a hand wherever I might, sitting in silent prayer, keeping myself to myself. Under that still exterior I was a stew of raw feelings, and every day they bubbled closer to the surface. There was, in truth, no silent prayer. When I sat cross-legged with my eyes closed, I could neither pray nor meditate. All I could think about was Felix. The passages of lore that had once come so easily, the patterns of breathing I had been able to summon in the most difficult situations had slipped away; they were beyond me. When Felix was up on deck, fishing with Sigurd or talking to Cathal, I longed for him to come back so I could look at him. When he was close by, the merest glance brought back the thrilling sensation of his lips on mine, and the desolation of stepping out of his embrace. I could hardly bring myself to speak to him, lest I break down completely. Ciarán would have been horrified.

I was not too preoccupied to feel pleasure at our survivors’ progress. Thorgrim was managing to keep his food down, and looked better by the day. Though weakened by his ordeal, Donn had from the first been eager to work. Gareth had asked him to join the crew, allocating him tasks that were within his reduced capacity. As for Colm, little ailed him physically that rest and good food would not quickly mend. His mind was a different matter. Felix listened patiently to the boy’s endless recounting of what had happened, what he had seen, what he had felt, and reassured him that his old life waited for him back in Munster, and that in time the nightmare would fade.

As Thorgrim’s condition improved, we learned that he had known Knut in Dublin. “Knut had a wife and children there,” Sigurd translated, to our astonishment. “But he was in trouble twice over. He owed money, a lot of money. Although he was a fit, able sort of man, there never seemed to be any funds to mend the house or clothe the little ones. Too keen on a wager, Knut was, and on women other than the one he was wed to. Things came to a head with his wife, and he took to her with his fists. Seems he forgot that she had five brothers. He left Dublin in a hurry, with no intention of going back, and headed for Ulfricsfjord in the hope of getting a place on a ship. He was almost lucky. He would have stepped off
Freyja
in the Orcades and made a new start, if the boat hadn’t been swept off course.”

“Danu save us,” murmured Gull. “So when he saw Svala on the shore he thought he’d found himself the perfect replacement for his wife. Not only was she beauteous beyond compare, but once he’d helped himself to a piece of her skin, she was biddable and silent, too. No wonder he was so keen to win a place on Inis Eala, where folk valued his skills and nobody knew about his past. It must have seemed perfect. And no wonder he was so desperate to keep Felix quiet.”

“That sea monster,” mused Sigurd, “the other one, I mean—if Svala could shed her skin and become human, does that mean it could, too? That thing would make quite a figure of a man.”

Felix kept busy, as I did. He talked to Gareth, to Cathal, to Sigurd, to Gull. He plied a fishing line and even on occasion helped with sailing the boat. He turned his hand to any task he was given. The crew treated him as a friend. And I watched him, seeing the fit, healthy man of my vision emerge from the shaken invalid by whose side I had kept so many anxious vigils. I had new vision now; I saw the strong shoulders, the proud carriage, the long legs and grace of movement. I saw him laughing, somber, reflective, purposeful. When I thought of the time ahead, I wondered how long it would be until I forgot these fine things; how long before he faded to a beloved memory, and then to nothing. Or would I keep his image in my mind forever, a piercing reminder of what I had sacrificed to follow my destined path?
An alternative
, he had said. How could he understand? There was no alternative.

Cathal made it his habit to take me up on deck at least once a day. Too much time in the hold was bad for anyone, he said. No doubt this was true, but he had another reason: he wanted to talk.

“Every day I expect it to happen,” he said to me the first time, as we stood together looking out across the vast ocean. A small flock of gulls had joined us as temporary passengers. They perched in the rigging, feathers ruffled by the breeze. “I expect my father to act. A storm; a mighty wave; a thunderbolt; an eldritch vessel crewed by uncanny warriors. If those little creatures on the serpent isle spoke true, the talisman should protect my loved ones and also keep
Liadan
safe on the voyage home. But it is a great deal to entrust in a tiny scrap of shell, however magical it may be. I cannot believe my father would not seize this chance to sink us. To drown me and have Clodagh and the child at his mercy. Why would he hold back when he has the power to stir the seas and conjure tempests? Why wouldn’t he meddle, when he has no scruples at all? He’s a man who kills for no better reason than to amuse himself. He’s a man who turns folk’s lives upside down without a second thought.”

I struggled to find the wise answer that would once have come so readily. “You are his only son. True, perhaps he is more interested in your child now. But he will not harm you if he need not, surely.”

“You don’t know him.”

“There is another possibility,” I said. Felix had just come up through the open hatch; he was heading to the bow to talk to Sigurd. He lifted a hand in casual greeting. The wind caught his hair and lifted it around his head like seaweed on the tide. What beautiful eyes he had, eyes of drowning blue.

“What possibility?”

I struggled to remember what I had been about to say. “Those little folk implied that someone must stand up to Mac Dara, and that the one to do it might be you. I know you have no intention of going back to Sevenwaters, Cathal. But you should consider the possibility that your father is holding back because he fears you. Because he fears your magic has the power to overcome his.”

“What about
Freyja
, the wreck, the losses?”

“There is no way to know if that was his doing. It was odd, yes. But there are many oddities in this tale, and not all of them are of Mac Dara’s making.”

“Mm.” Cathal fell silent for a while. Then he asked, “Sibeal, are you all right? You seem . . . not yourself.”

“I’m fine.” The sharp note of my voice made him narrow his eyes at me. “A little tired, perhaps,” I added. “This has taken a toll on all of us.”

More than half a turning of the moon after we had set out, we sailed past the reef on which
Freyja
had foundered and into the sheltered bay at Inis Eala. A crowd stood on the shore to welcome us home. Above the shouts of greeting came one penetrating sound: the shrill yapping of a little dog.

“It sounds as if she missed you,” I said to Felix, who stood beside me at the rail.

I do not think he heard me, for he was staring intently toward the shore. I followed his gaze and saw that among the familiar faces on the jetty was one that had not been there to watch our departure. He stood a little apart, a tall, still figure, his hair deepest auburn, his features gravely handsome. He was clad in an austere gray robe. Ciarán. He was already here. Time after time, in this testing summer, I had longed for his wise advice. Now I felt something akin to despair.

“That’s Ciarán, I take it?” Felix sounded less than delighted.

I nodded.

“Felix,” said Gareth, coming up on Felix’s other side. “That was a mission to test the most adventurous of men. Scholar you may be, but in courage and tenacity you surpass the most peerless of warriors. And without you, Sibeal, this could not have been achieved.”

I was hardly listening. The gap between
Liadan
and the jetty narrowed as they edged her in under oars. There was Snake, catching one rope, and Niall ready for the other. And Ciarán’s mulberry eyes in his pale, solemn face, watching me. I managed an awkward, jerky nod of greeting, and he favored me with one of his rare smiles. Fang was on the very edge of the jetty, making more noise than everyone else put together.

“I don’t see Clodagh.” Cathal was beside me now, scanning the faces.

He was right. Evan was there, and Muirrin. Biddy stood beside them, beaming and waving both arms to Gull. Among the women were Flidais and Suanach, Alba and Brenna. Johnny was helping Niall secure the second rope so we could step across from deck to jetty. He looked up at Gareth and smiled, and I saw not only relief and love in it, but also an apology. Leading the mission had tested Gareth hard, and the marks of it showed on his face.

Cathal was first off the boat, and heading over to Evan and Muirrin before I so much as moved. There was a brief interchange, then Cathal was off up the track at a run, with Muirrin following at a more sedate pace.

Felix offered me his hand as I jumped over to the jetty. Ciarán was there to catch me. We looked at each other. My mentor put his hands on my shoulders and bent to bestow a fatherly kiss on my brow.

“You’re safe,” he said.

Felix was beside me now.

“Ciarán,” I said, “this is Felix. He is a scholar from Armorica. Felix, this is my kinsman and teacher Ciarán, of whom I’ve told you.” Even the semblance of calm deserted me; my voice shook.

All along the shore, women were embracing their men, men were hoisting their children onto their shoulders, mothers were greeting sons, and warriors who had stayed at home were slapping the adventurers on the back and talking about jugs of ale and the exchange of stories. The Connacht men were mingling with the rest. The place was awash with relief and delight, save for here, where the three of us stood in our own little world. Ciarán and Felix exchanged a look. What was yet unspoken filled the air with tension.

“Sibeal, you have a new niece.” Evan came up, smiling broadly. “And a new nephew.”

My jaw dropped. “Twins?”

“They were born on the sixth night after you sailed. Clodagh’s well. I’m not sure I can say the same for Cathal; he looked deeply shocked. You’ll want to come and see them straightaway. I’ll take you.”

Twins. No wonder my sister had grown so large. “Are they healthy?”

“They’re healthy indeed. And it won’t surprise you to learn that Clodagh’s the most capable of mothers. There was a certain point in the process when she cursed Cathal for his absence, but all’s well now. And their hut is finished. She wanted to be in her own place. Shall I carry that bag for you?”

“I’ll take it.” Felix relieved me of the bag, then melted away into the crowd.

“Who is he?” Ciarán was walking beside me as we followed Evan up the steep path to the settlement.

This was not the obvious question it seemed.

“You’ll have heard the story,” I said. “Unless you only just arrived.”

“I have been here a few days. It’s earlier than we arranged. I hope that does not inconvenience you, Sibeal. If you wish, I will be happy to remain on Inis Eala until the end of summer. I need to talk to Cathal, and to Johnny.”

“Once you’ve done that we may as well go,” I said, failing utterly to match his equable tone. Why delay the pain of parting? Whether it happened tomorrow or the next day or at summer’s bitter end, it would hurt no less.

He gave me a sideways look. “Is something troubling you, Sibeal?”

“No.”

“We’ll talk soon,” Ciarán said quietly. “First you must see your sister.” He glanced at me and added, “Clodagh will want to look on smiling faces.”

“Here we are,” Evan said as we came up to the hut Spider had built for Clodagh and Cathal. It was finished, and Clodagh had already started planting a garden in the walled area behind the house. I could see freshly dug earth and a row of green seedlings. Nearby, linen cloths flapped on a line. Ciarán had left us, disappearing with as much alacrity as Felix.

I took a few deep, measured breaths. I summoned a smile. Evan knocked, then opened the door at Clodagh’s call, “Come in!”

My sister was seated on the edge of a shelf bed, feeding one of the babes. It was suckling busily and pounding its mother’s creamy flesh with a small clenched fist. Cathal stood before the hearth with the other babe in his arms. Father and child regarded each other with dark and shining eyes, taking long, slow measure. And although I had thought myself drained of tears, fresh ones welled in my eyes. The infants were as perfect as rosebuds.

“Clodagh!” I bent to wrap my arms around my sister and the babe she held. “They’re beautiful!” I had expected to love them instantly. I had not anticipated this aching longing for my own child. “Are you well?”