Seer of Sevenwaters (7 page)

“They must have been rowing for their lives,” said Evan.

“Wouldn’t a ship’s crew be rowing every day? I didn’t think of it before, but their hands would be tough and calloused. This man’s skin looks more like mine might after a day’s hard rowing.”

“What do you think it means, Sibeal?” asked Muirrin.

“Knut did say there were passengers. Perhaps this man was one of them. But surely the crew would have done the rowing, even in a storm.” Those eyes still watched me, and it seemed to me there was understanding in them. “I hope you’ll let us help you,” I murmured, thinking of Svala.

By the time Gull had brewed his concoction, Johnny had come in with Knut and Kalev. At their feet followed Fang, looking smug. I moved away when the men approached the pallet, but not before I saw the patient close his eyes.

Knut looked down at him. His expression was grave. He spoke, and Kalev rendered it into accented Irish. “He looks very sick. Near death. Has he spoken to you?”

“Not a word,” Evan said. “Can you tell us who he is, Knut?”

“Not a crewman. He was with those others. The three of them going together to the Orcades. I know nothing of their purpose. Will this man die?”

“Not if we can keep him alive.” The blunt nature of Knut’s question, which Kalev’s translation did nothing to soften, had clearly surprised Muirrin. “My husband and I, and his father here, are all skilled healers. We’ll do our best to help him.”

Knut inclined his head and spoke again, but soon faltered to a halt. “I thank you for your skill and kindness,” Kalev translated. “Too many have died. My son . . . ”

“We’re sorry for your loss, Knut.” Gull spoke plainly, like the warrior he had long been. “It’s a hard thing to bear. The hardest.”

“The Orcades.” Johnny looked thoughtful. “So that was your destination?”

Knut nodded. “The ship was to be delivered there,” Kalev translated for him. “We heard, some other fellows and I, that the Orcadian Jarl would welcome new settlers, fighting men in particular. We had hopes of making a fresh start in that place. Several of my comrades had wives and children on board.” There was a long silence, then Knut added something. Kalev said, “I will not go now.”

There was a silence. Knut’s grief and regret seeped into me, bringing me close to tears. At the same time I felt something from the man on the pallet, who appeared to be asleep but was not. He was on edge, tense as a creature in the hunter’s gaze.

“You know nothing at all of this man’s purpose, or that of his two fellow travelers?” Johnny asked Knut. “Where did they embark?”

“Ulfricsfjord.”

I had never heard of such a place, but Johnny said, “That’s the Norse name for Goosefeather Bay, north of Dublin. Knut, the trade route from the east coast of Erin to the Orcades would surely take you close to the shore of Dalriada. Inis Eala is far to the west of your natural course.”

“That is so, yes. But a strange wind caught
Freyja
, driving us westward. There was no fighting it, though we rowed until our backs were breaking.”

“
Freyja
,” echoed Evan. “So your ship was named for the Norse goddess of spring.”

“A fine vessel. A grievous loss.” Knut was keeping his shoulders square and his chin up, but his tone was uneven as he spoke. Kalev translated quietly. “I hope you can save this man’s life. I will come to see him every day. When he returns to himself, when he wishes to tell his tale, a familiar face may help him.”

In view of the fact that Knut did not even know the other man’s name, that sounded a little odd to me, but I made no comment. They had been through a nightmare together, the survivors and the fallen. If Knut was not making perfect sense, there was good reason for it.

“We’ll speak more of this later,” Johnny said. “Now you should go back to your wife. Thank you for helping us here.” He glanced at the man on the pallet, and I thought he saw what I did: a person who was doing an excellent job of feigning sleep. “Just one thing,” he added. “Do you know if this man understands Irish? Is he a Norseman?”

“Foreign,” Knut said. “He knows some Norse. More, I cannot tell you. He has not spoken at all?”

“Nothing,” Muirrin said.

“When he wakes, he will be confused.” Knut was studying the survivor’s features more closely. Perhaps he, too, had realized by now that the man was not sleeping. “Everything muddled, dreams and truth mixed, like a stew of many kinds of meat.”

Muirrin gave a crooked smile. “I’ll be happy if he speaks at all.” She hastened to add, “I’m sorry, I meant no disrespect to your wife, Knut. I know she is mute and cannot talk to us.”

“Mute, yes. And disturbed. I will go to her now. I thank you all again.”

“Kalev will take you back to the sleeping quarters,” Johnny said. “Rest well. Be assured this man has excellent care. If anyone can pull him through this, it’s our healers.”

The door closed behind Kalev and the Norseman. Johnny sat down by the sick man and addressed him quietly, in Irish, giving a brief explanation of where he was, telling him he would be safe, reassuring him that we meant him no harm. My cousin then repeated it in what sounded to my untutored ear like very passable Norse. Perhaps the presence of Kalev as interpreter had been unnecessary. This was not entirely surprising; it could be to a leader’s advantage not to reveal just how much he knew of another tongue. Johnny sat on in silence for a little, while I drank my herbal draft and the others completed their packing up for the day. I noticed that the sick man had his eyes open again, and was watching Johnny with something of the same wary look he had turned on me. Just before my cousin rose, the little dog pattered across and launched herself in a wild leap for the pallet. She scrabbled up, circled a few times and settled by the invalid’s side.

“She’ll help keep him warm,” Gull commented. “Pity we don’t have a bigger dog. Evan, you and Muirrin may as well be off to bed. Sibeal and I can cope here. Johnny, with these Connacht men due any day, we’ll need to talk further.”

“Mm.” My cousin was suddenly serious. “This has created a few more complications than I’d like, certainly. But it can wait until after the burial rite. Knut’s account was somewhat sketchy. Maybe, given time, he’ll be able to tell us more.”

“Connacht men?” I asked.

“We’ve a group due to arrive for training,” said Johnny. “Our unexpected visitors make that a little more difficult than it might be, but you need not concern yourself about it, Sibeal.” He smiled. “We ask a great deal of you, don’t we? A heroic rescue one day, a burial rite the next. It’s too easy to forget how young you are.”

“If my skills are needed here, I should use them,” I said.

“Not what Ciarán had in mind when he sent you to Inis Eala, I’m certain, but undoubtedly fortunate for this man,” Johnny said. “Now I’ll bid you good night. Muirrin, Evan, will you walk back down with me?”

The infirmary hushed, save for the survivor’s labored breathing. Gull lit another lamp, then came to sit on the opposite side of the pallet. The sick man lay still, his eyes once more closed. Perhaps he really was asleep now.

“You did a brave thing,” Gull said quietly. “You remind me of your aunt Liadan. Not a trace of fear in you. Just the will to do what must be done.”

I smiled. “I’m not sure I was brave. To tell you the truth, I was hardly even thinking at the time. It didn’t feel like a choice.”

“You’ve saved this man’s life. And risked your own in the process.”

“Just as you risked yours saving Bran, long ago,” I said, remembering the epic story of Bran’s rescue by two unlikely heroes: the slightly built Liadan and Gull with his maimed hands in blood-soaked bandages.

“Mm,” Gull said. “You’re right; under such circumstances a man doesn’t think beyond the next step. You simply keep going until you reach the end. I had good reason for it, of course. My own life was in danger; Liadan and Johnny were at risk. And Bran was my friend. This man is a complete stranger.”

I considered this. “I knew he was down there before I saw him,” I said eventually. “It’s part of my seer’s gift, both curse and blessing. It comes out of the blue: a snatch of sensation, a thought or feeling, a half-glimpsed vision. Most often there’s nothing I can do about it, because it’s gone before I’ve had time to work out what it means. But I felt his presence; something led me to that place.”

Gull thought about this for a while. “If you believe you were led to find him,” he said, “does that mean he’s going to survive this?”

“I hope so. Muirrin didn’t sound confident of his chances. What do you think?”

“It’s too early to say. I don’t like that whistle in his breathing. Still, he’s got some fortitude. Must have swum at least part of the way. Cú Chulainn himself couldn’t survive being unconscious in the water so long. You’re right about those blisters, Sibeal—his hands look painful. That may be a small problem alongside his other ailments, but it’s one I can do something about. I have a salve. I’ll get it out now . . . ”

As soon as Gull had risen and moved away, the man opened his eyes. If he had seemed wary before, now he might have been looking into a bottomless abyss. It disconcerted me to think I might inspire such disquiet. I was not even wearing my druid’s robe, only my gown and shawl with my damp hair over my shoulders.

“Gull, he’s awake,” I said. “Should I offer him water?”

But before Gull could answer, the heavy lids had closed again. Fang got to her feet, turned around three times on the blankets and with a sigh settled once more.

Gull tended to the sick man’s blisters, his own disfigured hands gentle and sure. We kept vigil awhile, not saying much. It was good to sit quietly in the warm light of fire and lamp, letting the grim sounds and somber sights of the day settle in our minds. I had thought perhaps the whole community might be abed, but a little later Clodagh came in, with Cathal following.

“Still up, Sibeal?” It was plain that this was what my sister had expected, and the reason she had come. “Off to bed with you—go on. We’ll keep Gull company awhile. Druid you may be, and hero as well, but you need your sleep.”

Whether it was the draft Gull had given me or simple exhaustion catching up with me at last, I decided not to argue the point, though it seemed to me my sister, so close to her confinement time, must need rest more than I did. Cathal’s presence reassured me. He would make sure Clodagh did not sit up too late. I bade them all good night and retreated to my little chamber, where a cold draft was whistling in under the door. As I slipped under the blankets, I wished there was more than one dog on the island.

Next morning, the wind turned to a scourging gale. The gray sea was churned to whitecaps and clouds blotted out the sun. Preparation of the grave site continued under the lowering sky, with men going out in teams and returning periodically to stand shivering by the kitchen fire, chilled hands wrapped around pannikins of Biddy’s vegetable soup. I spent much of the day in my chamber, preparing myself for the ceremony. In the infirmary an orderly pattern of work continued, Muirrin tending to various folk who came in and out, with Clodagh’s occasional help, while Gull and Evan took turns to watch over the man I had rescued. I took a shift when the others went to eat. If anything, the man looked worse. His skin was a disturbing shade of gray, and when his eyes were open there was a glazed look about them, as if he did not really see me. I held his hand and murmured prayers.

Some time later, while I sat quietly in my chamber planning the words for the ritual I would conduct at dusk, I heard Muirrin and Evan talking in the main part of the infirmary.

“Look at this. His water’s as dark as oak wood.”

“He’s been in the sea a long time,” Evan said. “That plays havoc with a man’s insides. I have to say . . . ” His voice fell to a murmur.

“Perhaps it’s best if Sibeal doesn’t know that,” my sister said, at which moment I entered the infirmary proper.

“Doesn’t know what?” I asked.

“You’ll be upset,” said Muirrin.

“I would be more upset if I thought something was being kept from me,” I said. Perhaps I sounded more druid than sister, for she explained it in full as she would to a fellow healer. After long immersion in water and exposure to cold, sometimes the body lost the ability to perform certain vital tasks. The dark urine was an ominous sign. Other symptoms might follow: a failure to pass water for days, causing ill humors to build up. Or the opposite: a sudden flood, leaving the person drained and weak.

“Is there a remedy?” I asked. She’d been right; I was upset.

“Nothing we can be sure will work,” Muirrin said bluntly. “Gull may know more.”

After that, I stayed where I could see the sick man. Perhaps, while I watched over him and willed him to live, Morrigan would not come for him. But that was foolish; neither druid nor warrior, king nor sage had the power to cheat the gods. I was relieved when Gull came in, for his strong, quiet presence calmed me.

“Keep giving him water,” he said when Muirrin explained the problem. “And vegetables. Beans, carrot, beet, turnip, whatever we have in store or in the garden. Biddy can make a soup, everything mashed up, easy to swallow.”

“Just vegetables?” Muirrin sounded sceptical.

“I’ve seen it work before,” Gull said, and my heart lifted. “It takes some time. The trick is keeping him alive until his innards start doing their job again. One of us will need to be here, making sure he’s warm, seeing that he’s propped up and can breathe, keeping his spirits up. You might help with that, Sibeal. Druids are full of good stories. A few of those wouldn’t go amiss.”

“I’ll be happy to help,” I told him, astonished by the way his practical speech had buoyed my spirits.

“I’d like to hear
his
story,” Gull said. “This fellow’s. Johnny has a party of folk out searching the coves around the island, seeing what might be washed up, and some of the things they’re bringing in are a bit of a surprise.”

“What things?” Muirrin asked.

“Costly things. An oak box with metal bands around it; a book with a jeweled cover; lengths of fabric, perhaps silk. Ruined now, of course. Makes me wonder if someone was bearing gifts. Maybe there was a party of emissaries on board. Sounds as if Knut doesn’t know much.”