Flame of Sevenwaters (4 page)

“In some ways, druids are like Christian monks or nuns,” I said, wondering how much of the Sevenwaters I remembered from my childhood was still there. It might all be changed now. The family would certainly be different, with my sisters away and only young Finbar left. “But their church is out of doors, under the trees. The rituals mark the turning points of the year. I remember…” I fell silent, an image in my mind of my cousin Fainne with a lighted torch, helping Uncle Conor rekindle the hearth fires. “It doesn’t matter,” I said.

Rhian gave me a swift glance but held her silence. She could read me better than anyone.

“Druids are remarkable storytellers,” I said, banishing the fire image. “Sibeal always had a talent for that, even as a small child, and she seemed to know what people were thinking without being told. There are skilled healers among them. Generally they’re quiet and wise and perhaps a bit remote. Uncle Conor is rather different. He used to visit us quite often, to advise Father.”

There was a silence; then Rhian said, “Maeve?”

“Mm?”

“Mother has tales about the Fair Folk, but she makes them sound like something from ancient times, not quite real. When
you talk about the Fair Folk and those other strange beings, it sounds as if they’re right out there in the forest, only a short walk from your parents’ home.”

I had not told her what I knew about the Disappearance. Now did not seem a good time for that. “I’ve never seen any of the Fair Folk,” I said. “But Sibeal used to see them when she was little. And you know the story about my baby brother being abducted. Cathal, who married my sister Clodagh, is the son of a fey prince. Clodagh and Cathal have both been to the Otherworld. You remember what I told you about their rescuing Finbar and taking the little twig and leaf baby back to its mother.”

“So that really is true, all of it?” Rhian’s hands had stilled halfway through folding a kerchief.

“Did you think I was making it up?”

A blush suffused her cheeks. “I thought you might be adding parts to it to make a better story.”

“There was no need to add anything; it’s a startling enough tale as it is. As for how much is true, I believe it all is, but I can’t be sure, since it happened after I left Sevenwaters and I heard it secondhand. My family has many stories of that kind. You asked about magic. We could encounter it, I suppose, but it’s far more likely that we won’t. A lot of the time Sevenwaters is an ordinary household like this one. There may be uncanny folk out in the forest, but people still do all the ordinary things: raising stock and growing crops, cooking and washing and tending to children.” I couldn’t tell her about Father’s letter and Mac Dara and the Disappearance. She might refuse to come then, and how would I manage without her?

As soon as this thought occurred to me, I felt how selfish it was. Rhian should not have to come with me if she didn’t want to. She wasn’t just my maid, she was my friend. I owed her the truth.

“The Fair Folk aren’t always benign,” I said. “One or two of them are dangerous—like Mac Dara, the one who stole my brother. They say he’s still there, in the Otherworld part of Sevenwaters. And…well, it seems as if he’s still making mischief.” Mischief was a most inadequate word for the apparent slaughter of twelve
innocent men, some of them in the cruelest fashion. “Stirring up trouble for my father, because Mac Dara failed to lure Cathal back to the Otherworld. Some men were killed; not my father’s, but the sons of another chieftain and their party of men-at-arms.” Rhian was listening with such fascination that she had completely forgotten the packing. She knelt stock-still watching me. “That was only a few moons ago, Rhian. I thought I should tell you, in case you decide you don’t want to come with me.”

“Not come?” The rapt expression was replaced by one of horror. “Not go to Sevenwaters? Of course I want to come!” After a moment she added, “Besides, how would you manage without me?”

I grimaced. “Someday you’ll want to marry and have a family of your own. I can’t expect to have you with me forever. It’s not much of a life for you, being my shadow day and night.”

Rhian grinned. “If the fellows around here are the best I get to meet, I might be still unwed when the two of us are old women,” she said. “Now, should I pack another pair of shoes?”

CHAPTER 2

W e set sail from a sheltered bay half a day’s ride from Harrowfield. The boat was a sturdy cargo vessel, not large, but fitted out for the transport of horses; the crew did not seem unduly alarmed by Swift’s rolling eyes and twitching tail. We’d stayed a few nights at a local farm, waiting for the right conditions, for the boat’s master wanted to make the trip across to Erin in a single day. That could only be done with calm seas and a favorable wind, and the day would be a long one indeed, but nobody wanted to unload and reload our precious cargo on an island mid-voyage, nor was the master prepared to lengthen the trip by trailing a sea anchor overnight.

The boat was beached and a ramp laid from the pebbly shore up and over the side. The vessel had raised deck areas fore and aft, with long oars to maneuver her in and out from her mooring. In the open hold between these decks was a pair of horse stalls, solid timber with a system of ropes to secure the animals.

We blindfolded Swift; we’d never have gotten him up the ramp otherwise. Emrys led him; I walked beside him, my hand on his neck. I talked him up step by step, feeling like a liar as I reassured
him with visions of green fields. When he trembled and froze halfway up the ramp, I whispered in his ear, stroking him gently, until he took another step forward and another.

The crew were patient; they knew horses. Eventually we had Swift in the hold and in a stall, with a contraption of canvas and ropes holding him securely in place. Emrys had bandaged his legs, fearing he might otherwise hurt himself by kicking out in the close confines of the stall. Once he was settled, the crew launched the boat with an efficiency born of long practice, and we were on our way.

We were at sea from soon after dawn until close to nightfall. Rhian was sick. I was so busy with Swift that I had no time to consider how dizzy and wretched I felt. I hadn’t a spare moment to think about Sevenwaters or being afraid or how small Uncle Bran and Aunt Liadan and my cousins had looked on the shore, waving good-bye. Emrys and Donal shoveled dung and brought water and hay. The crew did their job, fastening and unfastening ropes, adjusting the sail, from time to time exchanging unintelligible shouts. I stood by Swift’s head, soothing him, talking to him, singing him through the long, nightmare journey as he traveled farther and farther away from everything familiar. “Green meadow. Clear water. Kind hands and quiet.”

We reached the shore of Erin in fast-fading light. I had hoped that Swift’s exhaustion might mean we would get him off the boat more easily, but he was beyond frightened. Still blindfolded, he made a wild surge for freedom the moment we got him out of the stall. The grooms managed to hold him.

At the top of the ramp he shied, whickering, and almost knocked me over. It took some time to get him down. When his feet finally touched solid ground I felt myself let out a long sigh, as if I had been holding my breath all the way from the far shore.

While the crew unloaded our baggage, Emrys walked Swift on the shore to calm him. Two of Uncle Bran’s men-at-arms had come with us as an escort. There was a settlement nearby with an inn where we could be accommodated for the night. We reached the place to find several of Father’s men-at-arms waiting for us, along
with one of the Sevenwaters grooms. This was unsurprising. Father’s special bond with Aunt Liadan, his twin, allowed them to communicate mind to mind over distance: she had let him know we were coming.

The men from Sevenwaters did not look askance at me; they had been warned, I supposed. Their leader introduced himself as Cerball. “Lord Sean said to tell you, my lady, that he regrets not being here in person to welcome you. There’s been a death in the family, and there were various arrangements to make.”

“A death?”

“Lord Sean’s uncle, Master Conor, the chief druid. Passed away only yesterday. A sad loss.”

“Yes, it is.” I meant it. I remembered Uncle Conor as a wise, kindly old man, always ready to spend time talking to us children. He had told very fine stories. I was sad that I would not see him again.

“Lord Sean suggested you might wish to spend two nights at the inn, since you’ll be weary from the trip over the water,” Cerball said.

It would give Swift time to settle before we rode on. And it would mean I did not have to face my family quite so soon. I opened my mouth to say yes, and heard Uncle Bran’s voice in my mind:
Best face your fears straightaway; putting things off only makes them harder.
I’d had ten years of putting this off. “If Swift is calm in the morning, we may as well go straight on,” I said.

Thanks to the presence of Irish grooms at Harrowfield over the years, Emrys knew enough of the language to make himself understood. He offered to sleep in Swift’s temporary stable; the yearling was too valuable to be left unguarded in such a place overnight. I helped settle Swift, stroking him in the way he was accustomed to and whispering in his ear. “I want to run away, too. I want to cast off the ropes and run wild in the woods, leap into the sea and swim away, anything so I need not go home tomorrow.”

I stayed in the stables so long that Rhian came out to look for me. When we walked through the communal dining chamber people peered at me and spoke behind their hands. I was too
weary to stare them down. I asked Rhian to fetch some food and retreated to the sleeping quarters we’d been given. My status as a chieftain’s daughter had earned us a small chamber to ourselves. We ate and slept. We woke next day to find our escort preparing for departure. Emrys had judged Swift none the worse for wear, and well able to move on without further rest. The men from Sevenwaters had brought riding horses for us, along with a pack animal for our bags, such as they were. After a hasty breakfast we were on our way.

Riding, for me, meant sitting on a horse behind Rhian with my arms around her waist. I could maintain a reasonable purchase this way provided the road held no sudden surprises. We’d had plenty of practice over the years, mostly on an amiable old mare that had once been Aunt Liadan’s riding horse. A broad-backed, quiet gelding was led forward now for my maid and me to ride. Emrys chose a steady-looking mare for himself, and took Swift on a short leading rein, riding at the back of the line in the hope that this would keep the yearling calmer. I’d have liked to go directly in front of them, but Cerball insisted Rhian and I ride with men-at-arms before and behind us. With my mind on the Disappearance, I did not argue.

I had wondered when I might start to feel a sense of homecoming. This was the land of my birth, after all; the land of strange tales, warrior queens, wise druids and peerless heroes. After we had ridden some way I saw wooded hills in the distance, and folds of land that had a certain shadowy charm. We passed a chain of little lakes that shone under the cloudless sky. Some way farther on we began to pass through stands of beech and birch. I did not know how far away Sevenwaters was, and I wasn’t prepared to ask. I could remember almost nothing of my earlier journey, leaving home as a hurt and frightened little girl. Only Aunt Liadan’s kind voice and the poultices she put on my hands and face, cool and soothing. And her telling me I had beautiful green eyes just like my mother’s. I remembered that.

“This is so exciting!” Rhian said over her shoulder as we headed down a track under arching trees. The sunlight through the high
canopy cast a dappled light onto the ground; it transformed our horses into fey creatures spangled with gold and silver. “We’re nearly at Sevenwaters—just think of it!”

“I’m thinking about not falling off,” I told her. “And wondering whether I’ll be able to walk when we get there.”

“But just think,” my handmaid went on, undeterred, “in these woods all sorts of creatures might be lurking, leprechauns and clurichauns and little fey people, the ones that creep into the barn and drink the cows’ milk!”

“There might be, I suppose. From what I remember, they don’t show themselves to passersby.”

She was about to reply when a flock of little birds arose suddenly from the foliage all around us, twittering in chorus. From behind us came Swift’s unmistakable whinny of alarm.

“Lady Maeve!” I could hear the urgency beneath the careful calm of Emrys’s tone.

“Stop,” I said. Rhian reined in our mount. The men-at-arms around us halted theirs. I slid off the gelding’s back to the ground—I could get off a horse quite well, if clumsily; it was getting on that was the problem—and walked back down the line. Emrys had dismounted. He still had hold of the leading rein, but Swift stood shivering, quarters bunched and ready for flight. The yearling was strong; if he really put his mind to the task of escaping us he could do so with little difficulty. Then he would indeed run wild. In this unknown place, we’d likely never find him.

Emrys moved in quietly until he could put a hand on the halter. I walked with practiced slowness to Swift’s other side, where I touched the backs of my hands to his neck and murmured reassuring words to him. We stayed like that awhile, not rushing our nervous charge, and eventually he was calm again. But when I met Emrys’s eye, I knew we shared the same misgiving. The quick movement of birds was not enough to scare a horse to the point of breaking loose, not even a touchy creature like Swift. Had he seen something else?