Flame of Sevenwaters (53 page)

F acedown on the stones, I wept. I could feel Finbar’s hand on my back, patting me, but I could not make myself rise.

“It’s over, Caisin,” said Mac Dara. It sounded as if he was smiling. “The count is up; the signal has sounded; the display is finished. You’re out of time, and look! I’m still here, alive and well. What a dismal effort that was.” A pause. “Fraochan,” he went on, “in view of the complete lack of response from our audience, I think we can assume Lady Caisin has failed in her attempt to usurp my position. Can we make an end of this farce?”

There was a silence. Finbar’s patting ceased; I thought perhaps he was rising to his feet. Despite everything, I lifted my head and looked.

Mac Dara stood on the tongue of stone. His arms were folded and his lean features wore a look of wry amusement. Close by was Caisin Silverhair, gazing at him as if she could not believe he was still there. Her serene demeanor was gone; her lovely features were distorted with angry frustration. “This can’t be,” she muttered. “All the pieces are there, every last one. The cripple, the boy seer, the brothers, severing the bonds; we had everything—”

“Give it up, Caisin,” said the Lord of the Oak. “I’ve won; you’ve lost. What is that rhyme but a childish nonsense, spoken by a babbling old woman half out of her wits? I’ve never believed in it, and you’re wasting your time if you imagine…”

I stopped listening, for close at hand there was a wheezing, rasping, desperate sound, a sound that went straight to my heart. “Finbar,” I whispered, not daring to believe it. “Look.”

A pair of black paws, on the edge. A whimper.
Help me.
I crawled to the rim, heedless of the burning heat. “Bear,” I breathed. “Come, Bear.”

He had landed on a ledge, only an arm’s length down. On his own, he could not climb up, and the fire was testing him hard. If he tried to jump up he would likely fall into the basin and be lost.

“I’ll do it.”

Finbar was beside me, reaching down without hesitation, as if there were no fire at all. He grabbed Bear’s collar and hauled, adding his small strength to the dog’s. With a desperate, scrabbling effort, Bear pulled himself up over the edge to collapse, shuddering, beside me on the rocks. His breathing was like the crackle of burning pine wood; his flanks heaved. I bent over him, the world vanishing in the joy and sorrow of the moment. Oh, so many hurts. The bloody wounds, the singed patches, the sheer exhaustion of his long journey. I bathed his face with my tears. Weakly, Bear lifted his head and licked my cheek.

“Finbar,” I said, “you’re—”

Caisin’s voice cut across mine, knife-sharp. “No wonder it didn’t work. That creature is still alive! Luachan, finish him.”

It happened in a flash, Luachan seizing a fist-sized stone and striding toward us, Finbar shouting, “
No!”
I threw myself over Bear. An instant later came the smashing blow as Luachan brought the stone down.

I felt the force of it first. A heartbeat later came the fearful pain. I’d flung myself down wildly, my body across Bear’s, my hand over his head. The death blow had come down on that hand. All in vain, for Bear lay limp and motionless under me, his blood and mine flowing together.

A brother’s sacrifice
. A brother had to die for the geis to be fulfilled. And when he refused to die, when he battled his way back against all odds, she snuffed him out without a second thought, so she could get what she wanted. Not a wiser, better world. Not peace and justice for her people. Power. It was all power. Caisin was no better than Mac Dara. It was she who had stolen my dogs, she who had had them beaten and chained. When I’d refused to bend to her will, she had manipulated me with a cruel lie. If she became ruler, things would go on just the same as before. What were we in the long and devious schemes of the Fair Folk? Nothing. Nothing at all. They took us and used us and threw us away the moment they grew bored.

Finbar was crying, a child again. I lay there with Bear in my arms, my cheek against his neck. He was still warm. My boy, my dear one, my lost and found. He who never judged; who loved without reservation; who understood what happiness was. He was gone.

“It’s over, Caisin,” Mac Dara said. “The challenge is finished; the conclave draws to a close. And you have made me very angry. So angry, my lady, that I do not believe I can allow you to depart in peace to spend three years plotting how best you may trick me next time. There is ill work here, spying out of secrets best left untouched, meddling with matters that should be kept under lock and key. Come out and stand before me, Caisin Silverhair. Or are you afraid to face me on the tongue of stone, outside the protection of a formal challenge?”

A crow cawed, the harsh sound jolting me. I heard a murmuring from the gathered folk, a whispering, a rustling. I did not lift my head; did not dare. For as I lay prostrate with my face against the neck of my fallen warrior, I felt beneath my cheek a faint throbbing, the weak but unmistakable pulsing of blood through his veins.

I lay still, hardly daring to breathe. Caisin had been quick to order his death before; she would do it again without hesitation.
A brother’s sacrifice.
Eyes squeezed shut, jaw clenched tight, injured hand screaming with pain, I made myself as still as stone.

The pipe sounded again, and this time its music was a march of celebration, a fanfare of welcome, a melody that set joy in the heart and made the blood sing with new life. I lay immobile while the wondrous tune swelled and dipped and soared through the clearing.

When the music ceased, something had changed. The silence was profound; it felt as if, in all that great crowd of folk, not one dared draw a breath.

“Maeve,” whispered Finbar urgently. “Look up.”

I lifted my head. The clearing was utterly still. Clouds had covered the sun and the place lay in shadow; the red-gold light from the fire played upon the lovely features of the Fair Folk and touched their rich garments with points of glittering brightness. It illuminated my brother’s small face, his mouth slightly open, his eyes full of wonder. It spread deceptive warmth over the handsome countenance of Luachan, who stood close by us with his knife in his hand and eyes like death. And it lit up the two figures on the tongue of stone, each bound from shoulders to knees. The ropes that wrapped them were fibrous and leafy; they looked like vines. Mac Dara and Caisin. Caught in an enchantment; paralyzed; helpless. Who in all Erin had the power to do such a thing?

“Your reign is over, Mac Dara. Your time here is at an end.” The voice rang out, deep and strong, making me tremble. A familiar voice. I struggled to sit, my injured hand against my chest, my good hand resting on Bear’s neck, where the pulse still beat with steadfast will. I looked across the basin to the place opposite the tongue of stone. There stood two men. One was tall and pale, his hair dark flame, his eyes a curious shade something akin to mulberry. He was clad in the white robe of a senior druid, and around his neck he wore a golden torc. Ciarán. Ciarán here at the very heart of the Otherworld. His right arm was raised, the hand held flat, palm down, fingers pointing toward the tongue of stone.

The man beside him was in the same pose; it was plain the two of them were casting a powerful magic. This man…gods, it was Mac Dara! How could that be, for he was on the other side, bound and immobile…I looked from one to the other and back again.

“Cathal,” whispered Finbar.

Cathal. My sister’s husband. Mac Dara’s son. There he stood, a tall young warrior dressed in black, his face as grave and solemn as Ciarán’s. He spoke.

“The reign of darkness draws to a close. Would that this transition had come about in another way. But you gave us no choice.”

Mac Dara’s face was suddenly transformed. Boredom and malice vanished away. His narrow features were, quite simply, suffused with joy.

“My son! You’ve come home!” he cried out, and I shivered to hear it, for if I had thought him a person without a heart, now I knew I had been wrong. “It is true; my time here will soon be over. Thanks to this meddler who thought to challenge me, its end is upon us as I speak. But I can go gladly now. You are here, my boy—the only one worthy to take my place; the one destined to rule this realm as prince and lord. This is your home and your inheritance. Step up, take it. No need for these bonds. What is yours by blood, I give to you freely and with goodwill.”

Caisin spat on the rocks by Mac Dara’s feet. “This is absurd!” she snarled. “How dare you bind us, upstart! How dare you confine us? You stand in company with a druid, a man who walks the path of light—how can such as he form any part of this? He is of humankind; he is of as little consequence as the cripple there and her scrawny wretch of a brother. You, druid!” She glared at Ciarán. “What authority can you have here, when you cannot even keep your own kind in check?” Her glance moved to Luachan, then back again. “So clever, so wise, yet you never knew there was a spy in your midst! You never knew you sheltered and taught and nurtured my secret weapon among your own brethren. You were blind to him as he worked on the child, and on the cripple, so they would come to us exactly when we needed them. What kind of druid are you?”

Ciarán regarded her as a wise teacher might gaze on a disruptive student. “I am a druid whose mother was of the Tuatha De,” he said mildly. “This charm of binding I learned from her, and much else besides. It seems you, too, may have overlooked something, Lady Caisin.”

“You cannot pass the princedom over to Mac Dara’s son,” Caisin said, her tone dangerous. “A blood claim on its own cannot stand up! This should be mine! I was the one who found the geis. I was the one who set it in place! I am the challenger, not this—this half-breed! Look at him! He’s his father all over again! Is that what you want? Folk of the Otherworld, you must support my claim!” She was shouting now. “My clan deserves this—it is our time! You know this! Breasal, tell them!” But her councilor bowed his head and spoke not a word.

“Enough of this!” Cathal’s voice rang out, confident and clear. His expression belied it; he was pale, drawn, suddenly old beyond his years. “My lady, if you believe all the pieces of the geis are in place, you are mistaken. The verse speaks of a brother’s sacrifice. The hound that lies there is indeed a brother; but I think he is not dead.” He looked all around the clearing, as if assessing the hushed crowd. “This conclave marks the end of Mac Dara’s rule,” he said. “The time of fear and malice is over and a new age dawns. For that new age there must be a new leader, or all will quickly turn to chaos. My lords and ladies, you need a leader not only for your own kind, but for every race that dwells here—the great, the small, the powerful and the oft-overlooked. I am—”

“No, Cathal.” Ciarán spoke with quiet authority. “You are a young man with a young wife. Your children need their father to guard and nurture them while they grow. I will take this burden for you. It is my destiny and my sacrifice.” What I saw on his face made my heart still. It was as if a fire burned there, lighting him from within; a flame of goodness so bright that it must draw the great and the small, the weak and the strong, the privileged and the outcast to follow him.

“What of the geis?” spluttered Caisin as all around the stone basin there broke out a murmuring chorus of astonishment. “You speak of sacrifice, druid. But you and he are not brothers. There is a tie of kinship through marriage, I believe, but that is tenuous. The terms of the verse have not been met. I see no brother’s sacrifice in this, if the dog lives.”

Under my hand, Bear stirred, straining to lift his head. His dark hair was thick with blood.

“The geis speaks of brothers severing ties,” said Ciarán calmly, “and we saw the brave hounds do just that. But do not forget the line,
brothers in purpose and in kind.
Whether or not Cathal and I share the same parents is immaterial. We are brothers in purpose, united in our will to see the end of Mac Dara’s rule. We are brothers in kind, for each of us is of both fey and human parentage. I claim the leadership of this realm today, and with this promise I complete the terms of the geis. I swear by all that is good that I will rule this realm with justice and fairness. My father was chieftain of Sevenwaters. My mother was of the Tuatha De. She used dark powers; she twisted the fates of many in her time. But I have turned to the light, and while I rule here, the light will prevail.”

Cathal’s face was ghost-white, but he kept his composure. “Councilor!” he said, looking at Fraochan. “Will you recite the full verse for us, so there is absolutely no confusion?”

Fraochan cleared his throat; glanced somewhat nervously at the two bound figures on the stone; turned to face the druid and the warrior once more. His eyes widened. Ciarán and Cathal were no longer alone. A crowd of little figures stood around them, some resembling small human folk, some more like animals, some closer to the form of drifting smoke or cascading water or fronded plants. Above them in the trees there was movement now as beings crept out along the branches, creatures that seemed made all of leaf and bark and vine, of creeper and moss and stone. As I stared, I saw one of them raise a twiggy hand in a tentative greeting, and beside me my brother lifted his hand in response. This was wondrous indeed.

Fraochan recited the verse:

“Held by hands that cannot hold
Stands the steed so proud and bold
Chieftain’s son with seer’s eyes
Observes the Lord of Oak’s demise

Overcome the fear of flame
Bid the wildest beast be tame
Sever now the ties that bind
Brothers in purpose and in kind
Evil’s defeat demands the price
Of a brother’s sacrifice
As the age begins to turn
That is when the oak will burn.”

“Thank you,” said Ciarán, nodding to the councilor. “I would welcome your expert services in my household, as I would welcome the goodwill of any person here. We will all work together to restore this realm to the place of peace it once was. In expectation of that, I will call a council very soon, to which representatives of each clan and each race dwelling in this realm will be invited.” There was a murmuring among the crowd at this, but nobody spoke out.