Seer of Sevenwaters (20 page)

“Oh, gods,” I said after a moment. “So he played a trick on you. Children do cruel things sometimes.”

“Ardal,” said Gull, “what is this Ankou?”

“He is the helper of Death. In the swamp, yes, but more often on the road, in a cart full of stones. Coming for a man, a woman, a frail child. Coming to take you away. At night, in bed with the covers over our heads, we would listen for the rumble of the wheels, the shifting of the stones.” Ardal lifted his head and looked straight at me. “And he comes in the sea. A great wave. Smashing, crashing, over our heads. Sibeal, where is Paul?”

How much did he remember? Childhood and adulthood, past and present seemed mixed in his mind. I imagined him listening now to the creaking and rattling of roof and walls in the wind, and hearing the voice of the Ankou calling him.
It is your time
. If I spoke a wrong word here, if I trod too heavily, I might send him into a place darker than this Yeun Ellez.

“Ardal,” I said quietly, “your brother—Paul—was he with you on the ship?”

“My brother,” Ardal said, his voice unsteady. “He was strong. Always a strong swimmer. But not . . . nobody could . . . I tried to untie it, I tried, but it was too tight, and the wave came . . . ” He put his hands over his face.

“Oh, for a jug of Biddy’s best mead,” muttered Gull. “Pity is, a man in Ardal’s condition isn’t allowed strong drink.” He glanced at me, perhaps thinking the same thought: that man who had lain among the drowned, a tall young man with hair of the same brown as Ardal’s, could have been his brother. The man before us seemed too frail to hear it, too distressed to answer the question that might make it fact.
The Ankou came for your brother. He came from the sea.

“We need not speak of this now, Ardal,” I said, moving to crouch by him and laying my hand on his knee. Fang stirred, growling in her sleep. “It’s good that you are starting to remember, but there’s no rush.” Knut had said those two drowned men, the nameless passengers, were traveling with Ardal. I shrank from the need to tell him what I knew; yet as a druid I must summon the fortitude to do it. I remembered Knut suggesting Ardal’s memories would be confused when they returned, the truth wrapped up in the garments of nightmare.

“As we’ve told you,” I said gently, “there were only three survivors from the shipwreck: Knut, Svala and you.” There was no kind way to say this.

Ardal lifted his head; took away the screen of his hands. “In the water . . . how long was I in the water?”

“A long time. The ship struck in the morning. Knut and Svala were picked up not long afterward. I found you late in the afternoon, close to dusk. But they say you couldn’t have been in the sea all that time, not even if you were holding onto floating timbers. No man could have survived so long. Johnny thinks you may have been on that beach for some time before I found you.”

For a moment, Ardal’s thin features looked ferocious. “He was strong. He could have swum to shore. They killed him. They drowned him. The knots . . . ”

“So your brother was on the ship?” Gull asked. “The two of you were traveling together?”

A long silence.

“When I go home,” Ardal said, “perhaps he will be waiting again, on the step, and he will laugh at me.
Tricked you, F—”
That catch again, before he could say the word he did not want us to hear. His name? “He will get up, a tall man now, and put his arm around my shoulders.
Dry those tears, brother. The Ankou doesn’t take me so easily
.”

I had to tell him. I had to say it. “Ardal, we brought some men here for burial; nine of them in all. There was—” My voice cracked. “According to Knut, two of those drowned men were traveling companions of yours. He did not know their names. One was young, a tall, well-built man with brown hair and pale skin. He looked quite like you, Ardal. If it was your brother, I’m deeply sorry that you have lost him. There was an older man, too. Knut said you were going somewhere as a group.”

“Older . . . I do not know . . . ” The strong planes of Ardal’s face were bathed in tears. “I do not know what came before. Only the wave, and Paul . . . If my fingers had been quicker, if I had untied it . . . So strong, he would have swum to shore . . . I could have saved him.”

“Untied what?” asked Gull after a moment.

“The—the—” Ardal faltered. “No, I cannot speak of this. No more, no more of it.”

“I’m sorry,” I said inadequately. “Your brother was laid to rest with prayers and respect. I’m sorry it had to be done before you were well enough to know, and to be there. When you can walk outside, I’ll take you to see the place.” I wondered why Ardal blamed himself for his brother’s death. I had seen the ship crash onto the reef. I had seen how quickly the sea devoured it. Doubtless there had been other strong swimmers among the crew, but they had drowned nonetheless. “I understand how sad you must be, and I won’t talk about this any more, not tonight. But I would remind you of the runes and what they said for you, Ardal. A mission. Courage in the face of adversity. As the memories return, as they stir in your mind, fix on that. You were saved for a purpose.”

Gull had got up and was quietly preparing for the night, checking the door and the shutters, quenching the lamp so we were left in candlelight and firelight, tidying Ardal’s bedding.

“You truly believe that, Sibeal?” Ardal’s voice was a murmur. He dashed a hand across his cheeks. “If there is a mission, a quest, why not Paul? Why me?”

“Here, take my hand. There is no saying why one man dies before another. The gods make their choices, and we are powerless to gainsay them. All we can do is live our lives the best we can. With love and courage and goodness. I can see you loved your brother very much. He would want you to go on in hope; to fulfil your mission, whatever that may be.”

“What if I do not remember? What if the past is lost forever? There are so many pathways, mazes, traps. I could wander until I am old, and never find a way out.”

I could feel the fine trembling in his hand. “It is not lost,” I said firmly. “Already it is coming back to you. You will remember. You will fulfill your mission. We believe in you, Gull and I. Believe in yourself; make it so.”

None of us slept a great deal that night. Each time Gull got up to visit the privy, with Fang pattering after him, I woke. Twice I heard the two men talking and went through to see if all was well. Ardal had been disturbed by dark dreams whose details he would not share. My own dreams had been of an endless search along twisting pathways, for what I did not know. I had heard Ciarán’s voice saying,
The true mission lies within you, Sibeal
.
If you have not learned that, you have learned nothing.
After that, I was glad to sit awhile before the fire, my cloak around my shoulders. Gull heated up the rest of the soup and the three of us shared it.

“Had some odd dreams myself,” said Gull. “Past acts of violence. Sorrows best left sleeping. It feels as if we’re stirring up monsters.”

The day dawned fine and sunny. The wind had died down and the sea around Inis Eala sparkled under a cloudless sky. I made my way to the dining hall, yawning, to find Clodagh in excellent spirits.

“I thought we might gather mushrooms this morning, Sibeal.”

“Mm.”

“It’s an ideal morning for it. I can show you a part of the island where you’ve never been before. You’ll like it; there’s a little grove of apples, circled by hawthorn.”

“Really?” The rocky shores and whipping winds of Inis Eala did not seem conducive to the growth of anything beyond the grasses that nourished the hardy island sheep. I had seen twisted thorn trees, their roots lodged deep in rocky clefts; I had seen a few lone junipers leaning before the gale, like bent old men. Apples, I had not seen.

“Bring a basket and I’ll show you.”

By the time we had gathered baskets and cloaks, most of the men were heading off to another day’s hard work in the practice yard. On the way out of the infirmary I met Kalev coming in. Knut was behind him; both men bore swords.

“You’re starting early,” I observed. Gull would be as tired as I was. Just as well he was not required to give practical demonstrations.

“I am sorry to disturb you.” Kalev was as courteous as ever. “The Connacht men learn certain tricks with the sword today, and my services will be required soon. Now is the only time to work with Knut.”

“Of course. Knut, I didn’t see Svala at breakfast.”

Kalev translated this, but Knut answered me direct, in Irish.

“Wife sad. Not want food.” He took in the shawl tied around my shoulders and the basket over my arm. “You go walk?”

“With my sister. I’ll bid you both good day.” Was I wrong in thinking his question somewhat inappropriate? Since he had begun training with Gull, Knut had been unfailingly polite to me, but I was finding that each time I met him I liked him a little less. That made no sense; there was no foundation for it save a casual remark or two and an oddity in the way he dealt with his wife. And Svala was odd enough in herself to make that almost inevitable.

Clodagh was waiting for me, her basket over her arm.

“Are you sure you’re up to a long walk?” I asked.

“I was the one who suggested it, remember? If I had to lie down and rest all the time I’d go crazy. Even Cathal can hardly disapprove of a gentle stroll to pick mushrooms.”

We made our way along the westward path, leaving the settlement behind us. Years had passed since my last visit here, and I realized the island was bigger than I had remembered. We skirted the place of the boat burial and headed across an area of gentle dips and rises carpeted by scrubby grass. For some time we walked in companionable silence. Sheep exchanged quiet bleats as they grazed; a flock of geese honked warnings at us from the shores of a reed-fringed pond.

“There’s a spring over this next hill,” Clodagh said. “The fresh water brings all kinds of birds. I knew you’d like this walk. You miss the forest, don’t you?”

“Inis Eala is very different. A challenge.”

Clodagh smiled. “Spoken like a druid, Sibeal. You treat every experience as an exercise in learning. You never seem to lose your temper or feel doubt or have a bad day as the rest of us do; you think everything through like a wise old person. But then, even as a child you were unusually self-possessed.”

I considered this remark. “You say that as if it’s a bad thing.”

“I don’t mean it like that. I always admired you for it.”

“But?” I had heard the reservation in her tone.

“I don’t know. I just . . . well, I suppose I wonder if it’s entirely good for you to keep such control over your feelings. Feelings can be uncomfortable, but they’re part of being alive: joy and sorrow, excitement, fear, hurt. Imagine a story in which every character was in perfect control of himself all the time. It would be somewhat lacking, in my opinion.”

I grimaced. “I’m beginning to suspect a conspiracy. Everywhere I turn, someone’s challenging my vocation, either by outlining the delights of marriage and motherhood, or by suggesting there’s something amiss because I don’t scream and shout when I’m upset.”

“I didn’t mean—”

“Clodagh, believe me, I have plenty of doubts. About myself, about my future, about my suitability to follow the druid path. I have no doubt at all that the gods have called me, and that means I must do my best. As for self-control, I’ve been trained to maintain it, outwardly at least. Not showing emotion doesn’t mean you don’t feel it.” After a little I added, “Your story would be one in which every character was a druid, I suppose. In fact, people have been known to lose their tempers in the nemetons. You’d be surprised how heated the debate can get over the correct way to conduct a ritual.”

We walked up a slight rise and paused. Below us lay a secluded hollow, a sudden surprise of many greens amidst the dun and gray of the island. A ring of hawthorns sheltered the grove of apple trees, which put me in mind of graceful women in verdant gowns, perhaps preparing to dance. Short gowns; the sheep had nibbled as high as they could stretch. It was a lovely place, full of calm and sweetness.

“These trees give remarkably good fruit,” Clodagh said. “Crisp and juicy. You’ll be gone before this season’s crop ripens. The mushrooms are over on that side.”

An impressive crop of broad, cream caps rose above the grass. I made Clodagh sit and rest while I picked, filling both baskets quickly.

“How is Ardal doing?” she asked as she watched me work.

“Better. Remembering one or two things. It seems his brother was on the ship, too. He is quite confused. I had to explain that if his brother was on board, he must have drowned. Ardal seemed to believe that was somehow his fault.”

“Oh, so he’s remembered the wreck? What did he say?”

I sat back on my heels, seeing Ardal’s shadowed eyes and tear-stained face. “I don’t think he remembers much. Just a wave coming over and swallowing them up. He said he couldn’t untie something, but he wouldn’t explain what. His mind jumps around, one moment in childhood, the next dealing with something recent. And he mixes old tales with real life.” Or perhaps it was that the old tales helped make sense of real life. “We did learn that he comes from Armorica, only he called it Breizh. A long way.”