Seer of Sevenwaters (25 page)

At some point, Johnny would summon me to tell what I had seen; to relate the vision that had drawn me out to that cliff top, and the reality I had found. I could not retire to my chamber until that duty was done. I must eat and drink. I must collect my wits. It was hard to do that amid the comings and goings, the noise of voices and clattering pans, the smell of spices and wood smoke. Why had I been shown the falling man? Why had that vision come to me when it was too late? Or had it? My mind had been on my own concerns, and on Ardal in particular. I had been distracted. The warning had been clear enough. The terrible truth was that if I had told someone the first time I saw the vision, I might have saved Rodan’s life.

Ardal. I wanted Ardal. I wanted to talk to him, just the two of us alone. I wanted to release the churning mass of guilt and confusion that was building inside me. Ardal would listen without judging me. I could tell him anything. He would hold my hand and make me feel better again. But that made no sense at all. It was upside down and back to front, and I did not want to consider what it meant. I clutched my cup more tightly, wondering when my hands would stop shaking. A druid. Almost a druid. Falling apart like an overwrought child.

I was not accustomed to feeling this way, almost as if I were drowning.
Summon a simple technique, Sibeal, something you know so well you can do it without thinking.
A pattern of breathing, slow and steady. That was the key to calm. It was the first thing every novice learned in the nemetons.

It wouldn’t come. My heart raced, my head whirled, my body was possessed by bouts of shivering. I was on the verge of tears. It would not do. Soon I must face Johnny.
Eat. Drink. Be calm
, I ordered myself. I nibbled the newly baked roll Biddy brought me. I sipped my ale. When I had achieved some measure of control over my wayward thoughts, I asked myself why a fit young man, with friends and skill and, I supposed, a good future ahead of him, would wander off, lose his balance and fall to his death.

After a while someone came to fetch me, and there was an awkward interview in which Clodagh and I sat at a table with Johnny and the leader of the Connacht men, with one or two others in attendance, and I gave my account of what had happened. I felt as if I were somewhere else, watching myself as I spoke calmly and precisely, not forgetting any detail. It was obvious how Rodan had died. I had no idea why. Perhaps his friends could cast some light on that.

I agreed to conduct a burial rite next day. Rodan had not been a man of faith, but his father followed the old ways, and the Connacht chieftain wanted to be able to tell the family their son had been laid to rest with appropriate prayers. I expressed my sympathy for the loss, and the three Connacht warriors who were present thanked me. It had been necessary to explain to them that I was a seer, and that a flash of Sight had led me to the fallen man. I did not say that I had seen the vision before, several times, and had mentioned it to nobody. When we were done, Johnny walked to the door with me, and before I went out, he said in an undertone, “We’ll speak further of this, Sibeal.”

“Mm,” I murmured. I saw on his face that he knew I was holding something back, and I wondered if he, too, had not spoken with complete frankness in the presence of those other men.

“But not now,” Johnny said. “You look quite ill. Best go and lie down for a while.” His gray eyes were searching. “You can’t save everyone.”

~Felix~

Night falls once more. At last it is quiet.

A man died today, in a fall from a cliff top. The infirmary was full of folk; I heard this news as they spoke together. One of the visitors. An accident. I saw the glances they gave me, the men who came in and out with their wounds to be dressed and their friends in attendance. I read the message in their cold eyes, their grim-set mouths. They looked, then turned their backs on me.
That’s him. That’s the ill luck man.
Even the warriors who are only visiting this island give me those looks. I am not welcome here. Perhaps I never was. What am I to this community but a burden and a trouble? I should go. As soon as I can, I will go and take my ill luck with me. Never mind the mission. Never mind the shadow that hovers just beyond the grasp of my mind, the darkness that nudges at me, seeking to be understood. I might linger here all summer and not remember. I might linger here forever, a blight on this place and its good people.

Gull comes to tend to me, gentle as always. He helps me wash and dry myself. He holds the pan for me, then squints at my water, nodding sagely.

“Gull,” I tell him, “I will go soon.”

“Mm-hm.” He sets the pan by the door, ready to be emptied. “And where would you be going?”

“Away. Away from the island.”

“That was always the intention, of course,” says Gull, coming to stand by the pallet, on whose edge I sit awkwardly, my shoulders slumped, my legs dangling. “That you’d all go home when you were well, yourself, Knut and Svala. But you’re not well yet, Ardal. It’ll be some time before you’re fit to travel. You must know that.”

I do know. If I were well, I would have hurt Knut when he came this morning. I would have done him harm. I still see his eyes, cold with fear, hot with violent anger. He chose the moment when Muirrin went out; he must have been keeping watch. In an instant, there he was in the infirmary, right beside my bed. I had not even time to sit up.

“You remembered,” he said. “You told.”

“I remember nothing.”

“You’re lying. The girl, Sibeal. You told her about your brother.”

I felt my whole body tighten. Sibeal. To hear her name from his lips filled me with horror.

“The two of you are close, aren’t you?” Knut said, and he made a crude gesture with his hands. “That’s what they’re all saying. Girl can’t stay away from you, druid as she claims to be. Did you know she likes wandering along those cliff paths all by herself? Slight little thing—a puff of wind could blow her away.”

“How dare you!” I struggled to rise. He put his big hand on my shoulder and pushed me back down. “How dare you threaten her?”

“Ah. I see that I’ve touched a raw spot. Seems I was right, you do set a higher value on her life than on your own. I could kill you now, of course—you’re as weak as a newborn babe. But that would attract too much attention.”

“If you lay a finger on her, I’ll—”

“You’ll what? Stamp your foot? Cry? Spare me. It’s within your power to protect the girl. Just keep your wretched mouth shut.”

I wanted to put my hands around his neck and squeeze the life out of him. But my only strength was in my words, and my words made him laugh.

“Gull, I must leave this place,” I say now. “I bring danger. I bring ill luck.”

He busies himself collecting towel and cloth and bucket, hanging a garment from a peg, throwing another in a corner, finding me a clean shirt. “I’ve always been of the belief that a person’s luck comes of itself,” he says after a while. “You can’t bring ill luck unless you have ill intent. But I’m not an expert on such matters. You should ask Sibeal; she’s the druid.”

“Where is she, Gull?” All day she has been gone. All day, my fear for her has grown, a cold heaviness in my gut.

“She went straight to her little chamber to rest. Difficult day for her.”

Alarm darts through my veins. “Difficult, what do you mean?”

“She found that man’s body,” Gull says. “It upset her.”

I am silent. This part of the story, I did not hear.

“I expect she’ll tell you about it herself when she’s ready. Or maybe not; she’s had to give her account of it several times over, so Johnny can be quite sure what happened.”

“There is some doubt?”

Gull is suddenly busy again, folding something; he’s said too much already, perhaps.

“Gull?”

“Mm?”

“If Sibeal wakes, if she comes to sit by the fire tonight, I wish to speak to her alone.”

“Oh, yes? You know, I suppose, that there are two reasons why I’m spending my nights in here and not in my own bed with my wife to keep me warm. One is to watch over you. The other’s to provide respectability for Sibeal, since it’s not quite right for her to be sleeping here with you in the next chamber. My presence makes it almost acceptable. Sibeal’s family would not approve of my leaving the two of you on your own after dark.”

“Just for a little,” I say. “I wish only to talk to her, Gull, nothing more. I have none of those feelings toward her, the kind you imply . . . ”

He looks at me, and I look at him. “Bollocks,” he says.

“I do not think I know this word.” I need not know it to understand his meaning.

“Rubbish. Maybe you and she like ideas and arguments. Maybe you share a bent for scholarship. But I’m a man, Ardal, same as you. There’s much more than that between you.”

I manage a smile. He has surprised me. Am I so transparent? “You speak like a father to a wayward son,” I tell him. “Very well, I amend what I said before. My feelings for Sibeal are many and complex. Foremost among them, always, will be respect. I respect her as a druid, as a scholar and as a woman. Look me in the eye as I say this, Gull, and tell me I am a liar.”

Gull grins. Now I have surprised him. “Then we’ll leave the decision up to Sibeal,” he says. “She may still be too tired to want anything more than a bowl of food and a good night’s sleep.”

“Gull?”

“Mm?”

“Thank you. I am sorry your wife must sleep alone.”

“Ah, well,” he says, “I expect we’ll make up for it later. How about trying a walk over to the fire? If you’re so keen to be off the island and away, we’d best keep working on those legs.”

Gull is yawning by the time Sibeal emerges from her little chamber at the end of the infirmary. Her face is pale; there are smudges of exhaustion around her lovely eyes. She hugs her shawl close about her. If I could be that shawl, I would shield her with the warmth of my arms and the courage of my heart. I would keep her from all harm. Gods, how this weakness fetters me!

“You stayed up,” Sibeal says, coming over to the fire where the two of us are sitting. She looks shaky on her feet, as if she might faint. “I’m sorry, I’m out of tune with time today. You should both be abed.” She turns those eyes on me in a look of such care and concern that it stops my words.

“No trouble,” Gull says easily. “I’ve been telling Ardal about today’s fighting, which I suspect doesn’t interest him in the least.” He gets up. “Sit here, Sibeal.”

“They were saying Knut acquitted himself remarkably well,” says Sibeal. “You must be pleased.”

He grins widely. “I enjoyed those seven days’ work, I can’t deny it. Bran would have been amused if he could have seen it. He always said the peaceable healer was only a thin skin covering the man I once was. Not sure I agree, to tell the truth. I love the skill a man can put into play in a good fight, the speed and strength of it, the strategy beforehand and the instinct that comes in the heat of combat. But I’ve had my fill of bloodshed. Patching folk up suits me better than killing them these days. Must be getting old.”

“Not old, just wise,” Sibeal says.

“Did you rest well, Sibeal?” I ask, though I can see the answer is no.

She shivers. “I would say my dreams were unwelcome, but I expect there is some wisdom to be gleaned from them. They were dark and confused; it will take me time to work out their meaning. Did they bring Rodan’s body back, Gull?”

Gull nods, somber now. “Johnny wanted me to ask you if you’re sure about performing the rite tomorrow.”

“Of course.”

“For now,” says Gull, “I’m under instructions to make sure you eat and drink. Biddy has something set aside for you.”

“I’m really not hungry.”

“The strictest of instructions, from your sisters. You need not walk down to the kitchen. I can fetch your supper for you.” Gull glances at me. “Ardal wants to talk to you on your own. If you’re agreeable to that, I’ll take time for a drink and a chat with Biddy before I come back. If you’re not agreeable, I’ll put my head out the door and whistle someone up.”

“Thank you, Gull. We’ll be fine by ourselves.” She’s looking into the flames, her eyes suspiciously bright. Holding back tears? What was in those dreams?

We are silent awhile when Gull is gone. The fire flickers; the shadows move; the night wind rattles the shutters.

“What did you want to talk about?” she asks, her voice small and tight.

I expected her to seek explanations. Why did I warn her not to go out alone? Why would I take it upon myself to say such a thing? I have no good answer ready; I cannot tell her what Knut said. She would go straight to Johnny, and Johnny would confront Knut, and in one form or another, disaster would follow. Knut will stop at nothing to keep me from talking. Whatever lies behind this veil of forgetting, it must be powerful indeed. The only way I can keep Sibeal safe is by leaving Inis Eala. I am not strong enough yet, but Gull will help me. He trained Knut to expertise with the sword in seven days, after all. Surely he can train me to walk, to run, to be my own master again. Then I will go. I had planned to tell her I have decided this. Instead I say, “You talk, Sibeal. I will listen.”