Child of the Prophecy (40 page)

"Up! Out! Stand before me and account for yourself, girl!"

I did as she bid me, shivering in my nightrobe. My feelings of peace and confidence had vanished the moment I recognized her voice.

"H—how did you get here?" I whispered.

"You think I cannot command the power of transportation?" she snapped. "You underestimate me, girl. You'll never escape my observation. Don't even think of tricking me that way. Where is the amulet? What have you done with it?"

Sudden realization struck me like an icy chill. The amulet; a charm of protection, she had told me, and I, fool that I was, had believed her. The moment I had taken it off, I had become myself again. And now here she was, livid with fury, so brimful of destructive magic that her very fingertips crackled with it. I chose my words carefully. "The cord broke. I have laid the amulet away for safekeeping. In the morning I will find another cord, and wear it again. I have not forgotten what you bid me do."

"Show me."

I went to the wooden chest, unlocked it, and began methodically to lift out folded clothes, my hairbrush, other small items. My hands were shaking. Right at the bottom was the amulet, and as I put my fingers around it they encountered something else; a tiny object long forgotten, left year after year unnoticed, perhaps awaiting this very touch. It was like a blow to the heart. You might forget, said a voice deep in my memory.

"Well? Do you have it? Show me!"

I held out my hand for her, the bronze amulet on the palm. She sniffed.

"Very well. Tomorrow. Without fail. Remove this, and you put yourself and our great endeavor in extreme jeopardy. Remove it and you shed your last protection against these folk. And they are strong. Do you understand me, Fainne?"

"Yes, Grandmother." I understood well enough, if somewhat too late. If I did not wear her little charm, her little spell to keep me working her will, she would be quickly at my side and ready to punish both me and my father. This was no talisman of protection, but a mind-twister, a charm of control. No wonder I had felt, at times, that my thoughts were not my own. No wonder I had hated myself.

"Now, Fainne. I wonder if you have forgotten why you are here."

"No, Grandmother. But-"

"But?" The tone of menace in this single word near froze my will. I took a deep breath, and another, and I said to myself, Fire child. Find your strength, fire child.

"I am no longer sure I can do as you wish, Grandmother. I have—I have—"

At that moment I felt a spearing pain through my right temple, a pain that drove me to my knees and left me retching there on the floor with ill-tasting bile dribbling down my chin, for my stomach was empty from the day's fasting.

"I-I-"

"What was it you wanted to say, Fainne?" she inquired sweetly.

"I—at least hear me out. You can at least let me finish, before you punish me for my words."

"I can at least let you finish? Oh, dear. When will you realize I can do anything I wish? Anything, girl!"

"Anything, except the practice of the higher magic?" I whispered. "Anything, except the restraint my father exercises? That is not quite

"How dare you! How dare you defy me! How dare you answer back!"

Another stab of pain, this time on the left side. I was crouched before her, my head in my hands, and the world spinning out of control before my tight-shut eyes.

"It's wrong." My voice was like a little thread; but my father had taught me well. Through the agony that pierced my skull, still I found the words. "What you want. The forest. The Islands. You've got it wrong. The battle must be won, not lost. The Islands must be saved, not thrown away. Without that, none of us can survive. I cannot do this, Grandmother. Not for you, not for my father. Not for anyone."

"Get up."

I did not think my legs would support me. The pain was fading slowly, but my whole body ran with sweat, and my stomach churned. I struggled up to stand, swaying, before her.

"Look at me, Fainne."

I forced myself to meet her gaze. Her eyes glowed darkly; she stared back as if to read the deepest secrets of my heart.

"They told you this. You talked to them. Which was it? The lady with the blue cloak and the honeyed voice? The one that hovers on the verge of sight, elusive on the margin between light and dark? Was it the maiden all rippling locks and robes of froth and bubbles, or the flame-haired lord with his imperious manner and his little mind games? Who was it? You must not heed them. They are the enemies of our kind. Our quest is to thwart their long goal, not aid it."

"I think you are wrong. And I cannot do it. Find yourself another tool. Indeed, since you have such power that you can be here by my side in an instant, why do you not complete this task yourself? Beside you, I am nothing. You are displeased with me. You make that clear. Wreak your own act of destruction, if you will. Seek your own vengeance."

She glared at me balefully, brows arched in derision.

"You're a very silly girl at times, Fainne. There's a right way for this to happen, and a wrong way. It must unfold. It must unfold according to the prophecy, to the very last. Why do you think I haven't bid you kill their leaders or sell their secrets to the enemy? Why do you think I've left you to your own devices so long? I want you to insinuate yourself, to creep into their lives and into their hearts, child. I want them to trust you. I want them to love you. Then, at the very end, you turn. You turn, smiling, and strike the mortal blow. You're made for this task, Fainne. It's yours and yours alone."

"I won't do it. Punish me all you will. I cannot continue to hurt the innocent, and abuse my craft, and blunder on heedless of the consequences. I could not do so even if the goal were one I believed in."

A charged silence. I stood breathing with all the control I could muster, wondering where the next bolt of agony would strike.

"Haven't you forgotten something?" asked my grandmother in silken tones. She pointed to the glowing embers of the fire. I turned. As I stared, the flames rose up of themselves, twisting and flickering to make an image. There was my father, alone in the workroom. Around him, instead of the neatly stacked shelves, the orderly ranks of bottles and jars, the carefully stored scrolls and manuscripts, there was a chaotic jumble, as if every scrap of paraphernalia he possessed, every talisman, every grimoire, every secret ingredient had been tossed together by some violent act of fate. He crouched on the floor in the center, straining to breathe, his chest heaving, his mouth gaping open in the fight for air. His clothing was in rags. He was like a skeleton, a fragile collection of bones that seemed held together only by the tight-stretched, pallid skin. He looked up and right at me with my grandmother's intense dark eyes.

I turned away, my heart pounding. I summoned all my will, but still my voice trembled.

"I know my father," I said. "This is terrible to see, if it is indeed a true vision. But my father seeks the path of light, even though it is barred to him. He would sooner suffer and die than see the innocent perish, and good things destroyed because I wanted to protect him. I know my father. I know him better than you do, for all he is your only son."

Then I felt the pain again, in my foot this time, twisting and burning, as if the very bones were gripped in an iron fist and squeezed tight. I let out a gasp of terror.

"You've never liked this foot much, have you?" observed Grandmother in kindly tones. "You always wished you were more of a beauty. Who'd blame you? I can't imagine why you don't employ the Glamour more. Still, you're here, in the house of a man of influence, and him still unwed. Quite a catch. Just think, Fainne. Once Seven-waters is defeated this fellow can take all. All three holdings in one. Your son could inherit that. Ciaran's grandson. One of our kind. He'd be the strongest landholder in all Ulster. And you'd be his mother. With power like that, who needs beauty?"

There was another wrenching wave of agony through my foot, and I clenched my teeth tight, not to cry out aloud. The pain ceased.

"There," she said calmly. "Have a look at that."

I looked down, and felt the blood drain from my face. Where, before, had been my right foot, the one whose form was just a little different, a touch crooked, a trifle inward-curved, now there was a hideous paw like that of some monster in an old tale, a travesty of a foot with hairy, swollen skin, and bulbous toes tipped by twisted, yellow claws as thick as horn.

"I could do more," she said. "A great deal more. The hands. The face. The body itself. Step by step. Men'd be running away screaming. You'd never dare put your foot outside this door again. Still want to defy my bidding, do you?" She seated herself casually on the edge of the bed, smiling.

I looked down at the monstrosity I wore in place of a foot. I summoned up a spell to change it back. I muttered the words.

"Oh, no," said Grandmother quietly. "It's not as easy as that." And before I could finish the incantation, the counterspell was already in place, and my hideous, hairy paw stayed as it was.

"Very well," I said as tears pooled behind my eyes. "Perhaps you might do your worst. Perhaps I might be turned into a monster. Then I would do as my mother did, and end it. Slice my wrists. Step from the tower at Sevenwaters. Walk out into the lake, until the waters closed over my head. Then what?"

"Wretched girl. Your father has a great deal to answer for. Here." She snapped her fingers, and my foot returned to its former self. I sucked in my breath, and bit back the abject thank-you that sprang to my lips. I would not let her know how close I had come to giving in, when I saw what she could do to me.

"Sit down, child. Put this blanket around you. It's cold. Got some nice things in your chest there, I see. A few good gowns. That's a relief. Can't come courting a rich man looking like some tattered fishwife. And what a pretty little shawl, all over colors. Comes from a tinker's market, does it?"

"It's nothing." With a great effort I kept my face and voice impassive. I thought I knew where she was heading. "You can take it if you want," I added. "It's nothing to me."

"No? Still, it's somewhat cheap and tawdry for my tastes, Fainne; the sort of trifle a traveling man might give to his sweetheart. I would hardly wear such a gaudy thing."

"Foolish of me to suggest it," I said, getting up and starting to lay my belongings back in the chest.

Behind me, my grandmother spoke again. "So, you will let your father suffer and die. You will allow yourself to become a monster. You care nothing for your own future. This surprises me, I must admit it. You are not quite the girl I thought you to be. But you will not defy me, Fainne."

"I don't know what you mean. You cannot make me do what you want. You cannot force me."

"You think not? What if you were to see all you loved, all you cared about, struck down one by one? What if you watched the slow destruction of all you hold dear? Watched this, knowing it was in your power to stop it? What then? Would you fail to act, to protect them?"

"I don't know what you mean," I breathed, but a dark horror was spreading through me as I recognized the meaning of her words. "I have nobody. I care for nobody save my father. And I told you, I know what his mind would be on this."

"Oh, make no doubt of it, he will continue to suffer. As for the others, I don't believe you. I have seen you, from time to time. I've seen the look in your eye. I've watched you playing with these children, tucking them into bed, pretending you were annoyed by their pestering. I see the way your hands linger on your tinker's trifle there, as if the memories in its folds were too precious to let go. Make no doubt of it, Fainne. You will see it all, step by agonizing step. An unfortunate fall from a horse. A young girl fallen into the wrong company. A stew eaten by the roadside, with an injudicious choice of mushrooms. A nasty incident with a fishhook. Accidents all. As for you, perhaps you will be the only one unharmed. Your job will be to

watch, as they suffer around you. To watch, knowing you could have stopped it. Knowing that, without your disobedience, none of it needed to happen."

"Stop! Stop it! How do I know this is true, anyway? You could be lying to me. My father might not be sick at all. I might defy you and all could still be well!"

"You think so?" She glanced down at my foot. "If you choose to put that to the test, I cannot stop you, my dear. It would be your risk. And you're right, you cannot know about your father. Not unless you go back to Kerry. And if you do that, I assure you, his bones will be bleaching on the sand before ever you reach your little cove. Of course, you could always send a tinker's lad with a message." She glanced toward the wooden chest, where the shawl now lay neatly folded away. "You might always do that. But who's to say he would get there safely, the roads being what they are? He'd as like be murdered by the way for his little pack of cheap goods, as reach his journey's end."