Daughter Of The Forest (20 page)

I did not call my brothers aloud, but two of them heard me. Finbar was there first, putting his arms around me, stroking my hair, swearing under his breath. A moment later, there was Conor, striding up the path with a face like thunder, roaring for the gardeners, turning his fury on two men I had not noticed, who were cowering now by the bonfire, spade and rake in hand, wilting under my brother’s ferocious interrogation.

I gripped Finbar’s jacket and fought to get my breathing under control. My head was exploding with rage and grief and shock. After a moment or two he stopped talking and sought to calm me with his mind.

Weep, Sorcha. Let go. What’s done cannot be undone
.

Even my violets! Even my little oak tree! They could have left the oak tree!

You have survived. We are strong. And these things can grow again
.

How can they grow with such evil here? How can anything grow? My herbs, my herbs are gone, all my things—how can I do my work without my things?

Weep, Sorcha. Let go. We are all here for you. Let go, little sister. The earth takes your garden to her heart. She weeps with you
.

He was strong, and finally I collapsed in angry sobs, and soaked his shirt front while he held me; and then Conor came.

“This was at my lady’s orders,” he said tightly. “Very specific orders, with no detail omitted. The men cannot be blamed, they had no choice; they know now to check with me first. But it is too late for you, little owl. I’m sorry. I know how you have worked on this haven, and loved its inhabitants. I know what it means to you and those you tend.”

“Just because—just because—” I hiccupped.

“Did you offend her in some way?” asked Conor gently.

“There is no need to offend.” Finbar’s voice was as cold as I had ever heard it. He sounded like Father. “The lady Oonagh needs no provocation to take such action. She will destroy us one by one if she is not stopped.”

“She—she told me not to go to the village,” I managed, blowing my nose on the square of linen Conor produced. “But they sent for me and I never thought—I only wanted to—and she—and she—”

My brothers exchanged glances.

“Sorcha, take a few deep breaths,” said Conor, leading me over to the stone seat that was the solitary survivor in the wasteland. “Sit down now. That’s better.”

They knelt one on each side of me, and Conor took both my hands in his. “Good girl.” Down by the fire, the two gardeners were raking up debris, throwing more shattered branches on the pile. They threw nervous looks in our direction.

“Now, Sorcha. I want you to go to my quarters and I want you to remain there for the night. You must not try to see her, or Father, until we have all spoken together and decided what to do. I know you are sad; but Finbar is right. Plants can grow again, and with your skills and your love, they will flourish in the hardest of places. You are safe. That is the most important thing.”

I could not speak. The pain in my heart was still overwhelming, and tears poured unabated down my cheeks. Now I had started crying it didn’t seem possible to stop.

“We must talk, all of us,” said Conor. “I believe you may hold the key to this, Sorcha. But first, you must come inside, and you need time to collect yourself.”

“It’s not safe for her here,” said Finbar bluntly. “This strikes at her very self, and through her at all of us. It was a blow well calculated, and aimed with skill. We cannot stand back and let our sister endure such things. We should send her away, before it is too late.”

“Not now,” said Conor. “Sorcha must rest. And you, brother, keep yourself in check, for hasty words now can only put us all at more risk. Do not seek to have this out with the lady Oonagh, or with our father. That is not the way.”

“How long? How long must we wait to take action? How long before we make him see what she is, what she can do?”

“Not long,” said Conor, helping me to my feet. His arm around my shoulders was strong, hard, and comforting. “Tomorrow we will act, for like you I believe the time has come. Meanwhile, tell the others what has happened, and bid them to my quarters after dark. But keep your mouth shut, brother, and guard the message of your eyes. The lady Oonagh reads you better than you think.”

As do you, I thought. It had come to me gradually, and was still not clear. But he had come to help me, right behind Finbar, and something he had said confirmed it. I had believed the wordless meeting of minds was for Finbar and me alone. I wondered how long Conor had been able to read our thoughts and feelings, and why he had never let us know. It fitted, somehow, with what Father Brien had explained to us. I supposed, if people looked on you as some sort of spiritual guide, it might mean you had a few powers beyond the usual, perhaps some that nobody knew of.

“Conor—” I said as we went up the back steps, careful not to be noticed.

“It’s all right,” said Conor, opening the door for me to slip through. “Your thoughts are safe with me. I use this skill sparingly, and only when I must. Your pain spills over, sometimes, and so does Finbar’s. I am here to help.”

We reached the chamber shared by Conor and Cormack. Not long after us, Cormack came in, grim-faced, and Linn padded in after him, jumping up to settle next to me on the narrow bed. Padriac and Liam followed, the one with a cup of spiced wine which I was persuaded to drink, the other holding my hand, kissing my cheek, then drawing his brothers aside to talk rapidly and in low voices just out of earshot. After a while they all went away but Cormack, who stayed just inside the door with a knife in his hand. Finbar did not reappear. After spreading the news, he had gone about some business of his own, it seemed. I felt bruised and empty, and I lay there a while watching the light fade, and letting the dog lick my fingers. And after a time, the wine worked, and I dropped into a restless sleep.

Later, much later, they were all there, all but Diarmid. I was awake, and they had brought me barley bread with honey, but I could not eat and I fed it to the dog. Perhaps this was what the stories meant when they called somebody heartsick. Your heart and your stomach and your whole insides felt empty and hollow and aching.

“Think about the good times,” said Conor, but I couldn’t. Finbar, when he came in, placed a small, damp bundle beside me on the bed. Linn sniffed at it hopefully. I unrolled the strip of sacking. There lay my garden in embryo: slender cuttings of lavender, tansy, rue, and wormwood; a sliver of lilac wood that might be grafted; a round white stone from the shattered path; a solitary acorn. I wrapped them carefully up again. Maybe, just maybe I could start again. My brother stood with his back to me. I sensed the love in him, and the rage.

“Now,” said Conor, “I must ask you, Sorcha, if you will share a secret with your brothers. With all of us.”

“What secret?” I dreaded what he might be about to say. The lady Oonagh had all but stumbled on my most dangerous secret, one that would most surely divide brother from brother. For there were three of them who were warriors, committed to the cause, quick to pursue vengeance in blood; and there were three who would always seek first to arbitrate, to mend, to fight their battles with words, not with blows.

“He means the vision, or spirit, you saw in the forest, Sorcha,” said Finbar from his dark corner. “Conor believes this may help us. You can tell them.”

“She came to me,” I said. “The Lady of the Forest. Just like the stories. She—she spoke to me, words about what I must do. That it would be long and difficult, and that I must stay on the path. That was all.”

Not quite all. But I would not tell the rest.

“Would such a vision come to you again if you bid her?” asked Liam. The room was dark, with but a single candle lit, and my brothers seemed tall and grim in the shadows, three of them around the bed, Finbar in the far corner and Padriac taking his turn by the door.

“I cannot call her at will,” I said, remembering how badly I had wanted guidance in my desperate attempts to help Simon. “She comes only when she sees fit.”

“The lady Oonagh flexes her wings a little more each day,” said Conor. “Her power grows. I believe we must harness an even greater strength to combat her. You could try. At the right place, at the time of need, with us around you, you could try.”

“Will you do this for us, Sorcha?” Cormack had come late to the knowledge of what we were battling. Linn glanced up at the sound of his voice. Her wound was beginning to mend nicely.

“How?” I asked. “When?”

They all looked at Conor. Suddenly, he appeared much older than his sixteen years, as if the shadow of another self overhung him.

“Tomorrow,” he said. “By our mother’s tree, at dawn. I will arrange what is needed, and Sorcha will come with me. You, Liam, must make sure Diarmid is there. I don’t care how you do it, but bring him. We must all be present. No horses; come on foot. Sorcha, bring a bundle with necessities for a night or two, for you will not return here for a time. You too, Padriac. I won’t send Sorcha off alone. After we are finished, the two of you will go onto Father Brien’s and he will get you away to a place of safety. I believe her next step will be to kill, perhaps by turning one of us against the others. We are a sorry bunch if we cannot protect our sister from such evil.”

“What is it you are planning, Conor?” asked Cormack, looking closely at his twin.

“Don’t ask,” said Conor. “The less said the better. We must rouse no suspicion. Why do you imagine I bade Sorcha and Finbar be absent from our evening meal? The two of them are like open books, they speak the truth at the risk of their own lives, and when they keep silent their thoughts blaze like a beacon from their eyes. Admirable, but dangerous. It was bad enough with big brother here sitting tight-lipped and frowning under my lady’s polite questions.”

“She is angry, for all her sweet manners,” said Liam. “She stopped me this afternoon, before I could talk to Father. But not before he caught my drift; not before a small seed of doubt was sown. She must act soon; I read her intent in her eyes.”

“I, too,” said Conor gravely. “So, stay out of sight tonight. When the sun dawns over the lake, we’ll meet on the shore where our mother’s tree grows. I believe a power can be summoned before which even the lady Oonagh must retreat.”

Cormack left his dog with me for company and went off to sleep elsewhere, and it was Conor himself who watched by the door that night with a weapon at his side. I slept in bursts, often waking with a start, as in the long dark nights at Father Brien’s; and each time my brother was standing there with his gaze on some far distant vision, chanting softly in some tongue unknown to me. Maybe the half-light was deceiving me, and maybe it wasn’t, but I thought he stood with one foot lifted a little from the ground, and one arm bent behind his back; and that one of his eyes was open and the other closed. He was still as a stone. The single candle threw shadows on the wall, and for a moment I saw a white-winged bird gliding, and a great tree. I drifted back into sleep.

Next morning there was a heavy dew, and a clinging mist blanketed the lakeshore. We set out before dawn, and the hem of my gown was soon soaked. I clutched the small pack I had brought with me. I had not many treasures. We made our way down the forest paths in total silence, without light. Conor wore white, and I followed him like a small trusting shadow. Behind me Linn trod in my footsteps. Sensing the need for secrecy, she curbed the urge to chase off after every rustle in the grass, and kept her silence.

We were the first to reach our destination. And yet, others had been here before us, for on the sward beside the young birch tree, where we had gathered so often before, objects had been laid out precisely, awaiting our arrival. The first hint of predawn light showed white and yellow daisies strewn on the grass to the east of the tree where the land rose up to the forest. Amid these lay a knife, unsheathed, with a hilt of bone. On the western side where the bank sloped down to the lake, a shallow earthenware bowl rested by the tree, and like the cup of Isha it was full to the brim with clear water. South and north, a slender wand of birch wood, a mossy stone from the forest’s heart. Such were the makings of our ceremony. Who had laid the ritual objects here, I could not tell, nor would I ask Conor, for I felt the need to keep silence, the immense secrecy and importance of the moment. I wondered, though, who had carried them here, since my brother had been with me all that night.

Slowly they came. Cormack, a tall figure looming out of the mist. Close after him, Padriac, bearing a small pack like mine. Conor was standing close by the tree, waiting. One by one we took our places beside him without speaking. Now Finbar was suddenly there next to me, though I had neither seen nor heard him coming. His urgent whisper broke the hush.

“Sorcha. Look at this. Tell me what it is.” A small bottle, glass stoppered. An elegant little vessel, well suited for a lady’s perfume. I removed the stopper and sniffed, then shook out a tiny amount of black powder onto my hand. There was enough light now to confirm by eye the conclusion my nose had given me. This was one of the deadliest of poisons. I looked at Finbar, and he read his answer in my eyes.

“It’s monkshood,” I whispered back. “Where did you find it?”

“In her quarters, among her things. It proves the case where Eilis is concerned, at least.”

“Hush,” said Conor. “Wait for the others. It is not yet dawn.”

So we stood there, and I tried to empty my mind of the turbulent thoughts that raged there, and focus on our purpose. The forest was quite still; it was not yet time for the tree dwellers to start their songs to the dawn. It was a moment of truth, and we must make it ours. But we were not yet all assembled. And without the seven, our goal would not be achieved.

It seemed like forever, but was probably not very long, until there was a slight, rhythmic splashing, and a small boat put in to shore. Liam was rowing; Diarmid sat slumped in the prow, a gray cloak wrapped around him like a shawl. Cormack scrambled down the bank to help them ashore; it took him and Liam both to get Diarmid up to the sward. There was a heady reek of strong ale. Diarmid swayed between his brothers, half conscious, red-eyed. Liam did not look much better. It seemed he had matched his captive drink for drink in his effort to lull him into compliance.