Seer of Sevenwaters (54 page)

I nod. I cannot argue with this.

“Our man on the mainland will arrange horses and supplies for your trip south to Munster,” Johnny says. “There will be resources at your disposal. It’ll be up to the two of you how you use them. What do you say, Felix?”

“It is good to have a purpose,” I say. “I will do this. I thank you, all of you. I thank you for your faith in me.”

Now they are all looking at me, and I see that perhaps my tone has not matched my words. Right now, it is not possible to sound anything but sad.

“Good,” Johnny says. “I’ll leave you and Sigurd to work out the details in your own time. You may need to make haste if you’re to secure a passage from the south before the worst of the autumn storms. I’ve given Sigurd up to a year’s leave of absence.”

A year. Once, that would have seemed long. Now, it only tells me that there will then be nine more years to wait. Nine years in which I grow older, and Sibeal grows older, and our paths grow steadily further apart.

“Felix.” Gareth speaks now, quietly. He is the affable, friendly man he was before the voyage, and yet not quite the same. His eyes are more guarded; his mouth holds something in reserve. “I realize your plans for the long-term future may be somewhat hazy at present. I must tell you that several of us, independently, have suggested to Johnny that he offer you a place on Inis Eala, a permanent place, once you have completed this other business, and that he has agreed. You might return here when Sigurd does. The men hold your courage in high regard. We would welcome you as one of us.”

I am astounded. I know what an honor this is, how rarely a place on the island is offered. “I am no warrior,” I say, “nor ever will be one.”

“You are a young man of exemplary bravery.” Gull speaks. His voice is soft and deep. It makes me think of oak wood and shadows. “That is a weapon stronger than the most finely crafted sword, Felix. You are a man of great heart. Besides,” he adds with a grin, “we like your songs.”

“Thank you,” I say to all of them. “I am more honored than I can say. Much in my future is unknown. Much is still to be decided. Whether my path brings me back here or takes me far away, I will never forget that you recognized me thus.”

Nobody says anything. Johnny nods. Gareth smiles. Gull gives me a look that reflects his knowledge of the truth: that my courteous speech and calm demeanor conceal a bitter, wretched, sorrowful man.

“We might row over to the mainland and talk to Biddy’s son Clem, Felix,” says Sigurd, putting a hand on my shoulder. “He’s the one who’ll be arranging the first part of the journey for us. If we go now, we can take advantage of the incoming tide. Clem will give us a bed for the night, and we can come back in the morning.”

“Why not?” I say.

It is the beginning of the end.

CHAPTER 15

~Sibeal~

C
iarán is the other part of this
, Clodagh had said. The spiritual part; the wise, measured part. I woke from a night of tangled dreams and knew I was not ready to face him. What could I tell him? That I was torn two ways and could not think straight anymore? That I had soaked my pillow with still more tears, and that, when at last I had fallen into an uneasy sleep, my dreams had all been of Felix? How could I explain to my wise kinsman that my body was full of longing for the touch of Felix’s hands and the warmth of his lips on mine? How could I say I regretted now that the two of us had not slipped away together on that moonlit night, the night the gray ones spoke to Cathal on the serpent isle? How could I admit that I wished we had found a secluded corner and taken our joy of each other? At least, then, I would have had that memory to carry with me into a future of austerity and seclusion. How could I tell my mentor that the voices of the gods had fallen deeply, profoundly silent?

I could not face anyone. I needed to be alone. I dressed, then drew aside the curtain to see that Evan was already up and tending to Thorgrim.

“Evan? If anyone asks where I am, please tell them I’ve gone to the cave for the day. I will be back by supper time.”

I withdrew and headed out my door before he could give words to the doubt I saw on his face. No sign of Fang this morning. Perhaps it was too early even for her. But not for everyone. As I walked toward the cliff path I saw two figures down by the water, near the fisherman’s cottage, deep in conversation. One wore a druid’s robe, the other was clad all in black. One had hair of deepest red, the other was dark as night. Ciarán and Cathal. I shivered. Enmeshed in my own woes, I had lost sight of what was to come for them, and perhaps for us all. Out beyond the safe margin of Inis Eala, Mac Dara still waited. I thought of the tiny tokens around the fragile necks of those two babes. What if a talisman was lost or broken? What if the cord snapped? What if the child was out playing and . . . No, I would not think of that. As soon as I imagined Firinne and her brother at three or four, I saw my own daughter running and climbing and being swung up high by her father, with her own talisman around her neck, and that was simply too hard to bear.

I passed the cove where Svala had crouched over her pile of fish bones. I passed the place where she had pushed Rodan to his death. I could almost understand that now. She was in thrall to Knut, bound to do his will, bound to share his bed although she shrank from him; that little sliver of skin was enough to let him control her while they were close, at least until we came to the serpent isle and the call of her beloved put new strength in her veins. But Rodan had no such talisman, and when he approached her, she did to him what she had long wished she could do to the man who had called her his wife. The man who had stolen her away, and lied about her, and used her as if she were a possession, not a living, breathing woman. A living, breathing creature. Gods, it was like an ancient epic of heroes and monsters.

Musing on this, I reached the narrow passage in the rocky headland and slipped through into Finbar’s cave.

So early in the morning, the cavern was dim. Blue shadows haunted the corners, and the water of the pool lay dark amid the stones. I lay down on the flat rocks, suddenly as tired as if I had climbed a mountain. There seemed no point at all in attempting to pray, or to scry, or to meditate. My mind was all Felix—Felix diving off the boat and vanishing beneath the water, Felix challenging me to be honest with myself, Felix using the rune
Is
to explain that he had lost his memory. Felix looking in wonder at the talisman he had been given to protect our daughter—how had those gray ones known of her, if she was never to be? Felix with his arms around me and his lips on mine. Felix singing as we made our way through the dark, riding on the monster’s back. My brave, beautiful man.

I lay there a long time; perhaps I slept. When I opened my eyes the cave was much brighter, and I sat up to see the pool before me filled with a faint gold light. I had not expected visions. I had not expected anything save that perhaps, in the quiet of the cave, I might attempt to get my thoughts in order. But there in the water was the figure of a man. A tall, brown-haired man, a well-built young man with a good-humored mouth and smiling blue eyes. Not Finbar. Paul. Paul who lay beneath the earthen mound in the place of the boat burial.

There was no sound in the cavern, but in my mind I heard his voice.
I want him to know that I am content
, he said.
He should feel no regret for what happened. We always knew, my father, my mother and I, that he was the one who would make his mark, break new ground, find paths hitherto unexplored. It was in him from the first, when he was only a scrap of a boy. It’s not his fault that I’m gone. I made my choice, and this is where it led me. He should go forward, speak out, be the brave heart he always was. I don’t think he ever knew how proud Father was of him; I don’t think my brother ever understood how rare such courage is
. Paul looked out of the water and straight into my eyes, and he smiled.
With you by his side, he will be happy,
he said, making tears well in my eyes.
Look after him for me, will you?
And with a ripple and a passing shadow, he was gone.

“I can’t,” I whispered into the silence. “I can’t do it. I can’t honor your wishes. I can’t obey the gods. I can’t do anything at all.” It seemed I still had not yet wept all my tears, for they flowed now as they had the day before, helpless tears, the tears of a child lost in a maze and running out of choices. I sobbed until my nose ran and my chest hurt. There wasn’t a scrap of druidic strength to be found in me, and I wasn’t sure I wanted it anyway. I buried my head in my hands and let sorrow claim me.

Much later, when the worst of it was over, I lifted my head, wiped my face on my sleeve and became aware that I was no longer alone in the cavern. Ciarán was sitting a short distance away, in his usual cross-legged, straight-backed pose, not looking at me, simply waiting, his eyes calm and clear as he gazed across the water. In a moment he would ask me what was the matter. I had no idea what to say to him.

“Perhaps it will help if I tell you I’m aware that you are struggling with your vocation, Sibeal, and that I know your young Armorican, Felix, is part of the problem. Don’t look so surprised; I had only to see him take your hand on the jetty to be aware of the bond between you.”

“I’m—I can’t—you won’t understand. Even I don’t understand.” If this was what it meant to grow up, I thought I might prefer to stay a child forever. And yet . . .

He gave a little smile. “Try me, Sibeal.”

“You won’t like it.”

“You know better than to anticipate my response. I see how unhappy you are. Tell me why.”

I drew a deep, unsteady breath. “Ciarán, I love Felix. I love him with my whole heart. He has transformed my life. Up until this summer, I never had the slightest doubt about my vocation. You know how hard I’ve studied, how much I’ve applied myself to learning, how I’ve tried at every turn to be the best druid I could be. Now I’m full of doubt. The voices of the gods do not come to me readily anymore; they are often silent.” I shivered, finding I could not meet his eyes. He would be so disappointed in me. He would be shocked by my weakness. “I love life in the nemetons with its tranquility and purpose. On the voyage to the serpent isle I discovered new ways of using my gifts, ways I had not known were possible. I love the gods, and I believe they still call me to their service. But I love this man too; I want to be his wife and bear his children. I want the sort of life Clodagh has, full of tenderness and passion and surprises. I can’t have both. Felix has spoken of other paths, of compromise, but in truth there are no other paths. There is only this choice. This impossible choice.”

“Tell me why it is impossible.”

“Because—because whatever I choose, I’ll live a life of regret. If I marry Felix and walk away from the druid path, I will always think of the vocation I was called to as a child, the peace of the nemetons, the myriad byways of the mind, the companionship of other scholars, the wondrous opportunity to serve the gods with all that is in me. And if I have to let Felix go, I won’t be the druid I should be. Part of me will always be thinking of him, wondering where he is, wondering if he’s dreaming of me, weeping for the life we might have had together.”

“Felix must be a remarkable young man,” Ciarán said quietly, “to have awoken such feelings in you so quickly.”

“You will probably dismiss it as young love, a passion that burns brightly and is soon over, a candle flame that gutters and dies at the first cold draft,” I said. “But it’s not like that. Please believe me. Felix and I belong together. I love him as my counterpart, my perfect completion. I love him body and spirit. He is a fine man, an exceptional man, a scholar and thinker, sensitive and wise. And brave; outstandingly brave. There is no other like him.”

He put his palms together and brought the tips of his fingers to his mouth. He seemed to be giving my arguments consideration.

“I know what you will say,” I went on. “That the love of the gods must always outweigh the love between man and woman. You’ll tell me that in time I will forget; that the pain will go away. But it won’t, Ciarán. This love is deep and long-lasting. It’s as vibrant as the notes of a harp, and as enduring as the heart of stone. It’s as big as the sky and as broad as the ocean. It’s as grand as a high mountain; it’s as lovely and delicate as a single drop of dew.”

Ciarán smiled. “You seem unusually ready to put words in my mouth,” he said.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “But it seems obvious what advice you would give me. You’ve devoted years of your life to the gods. If it weren’t for the fact that Conor is your brother and that you’d never challenge his authority, you would have been chief druid long ago. You are respected throughout Erin for your scholarship and your wisdom. You’re not going to counsel me to drop it all and run off to get married.”

“True, Sibeal, I would not do that. I rarely tell anyone what to do, least of all a fellow druid.”

I waited for him to say
The answer lies within you
, or
There is learning even in loss
.

“Sibeal,” he said, and I saw a look on his face that I had never seen before, a look of the most profound sadness, “I’m going to tell you something I’ve never told anyone else. Not one day goes by, not one, when I do not mourn Niamh’s death. Not one hour passes when I do not wish my life had been different, and that I had not lost her a scant three years after I found her again. Every moment of the day she is in my thoughts, tossing her hair, glancing at me over her shoulder, dancing on the sward, cradling our child in her arms. If I could have her back I would quit the brotherhood without a second thought. She was the light of my life. She was the other part of me. We were young when we first saw each other, as you and Felix are, and from the first meeting of our eyes I was changed by her. We loved each other in the way you spoke of, with body and spirit, forever and always. Oh, Sibeal, I know exactly what the two of you are feeling. And I also know what it is to experience a lifetime of regret for a path not taken. Death robbed me of that path. I had no choice. But you are blessed, Sibeal. You do have a choice.”

I was so shaken by the passion of his words that I could hardly respond. “I’m sorry.” My voice was uneven. “And you lost Fainne, too. I saw my own daughter, Ciarán. I saw the three of us together, in a little house in the forest. Felix and me and a lovely child with eyes like mine. It hurt me to see her, and to know that it is my choice that she never be born. That feels so wrong. It goes against everything I know as a druid. It goes against the knowledge that all living things are sacred.”

“I believe I have taught you all too well,” Ciarán said. He sounded calm now, but his hands were tightly clasped together, the knuckles white. “Yes, I lost Fainne, but that was different. I know that my daughter is alive, and has a companion of the heart, and that she is doing a great work on behalf of the gods. I see her in visions; she sees me. That is not so cruel. And I have you, Sibeal. You have a wise and loving father of your own, but I have long looked upon you as my second daughter. It hurts me to see you so unhappy. There, now I have said something inappropriate to a druid, so we are even. Let me ask you a question.”

“What question?”

“You said Felix had spoken of compromise. It seems to me that there is a possible solution to your problem. It depends on how far you are prepared to compromise. This is not all or nothing, Sibeal. There is at least one other choice available to you.”

I could hardly breathe, let alone speak. I did not dare to hope.

“There’s a community in the south, in Kerry. They call themselves the Brethren of Brighid. They are stalwart in the old faith, but they are not druids, at least, not in the sense you and I understand the term. They live communally, and there are married couples and children among them. There is far less emphasis on lore and prayer than we are accustomed to in the nemetons. Less rigor, less discipline. More freedom of thought, demonstrated in robust nightly debates; they’re as fond of those as they are of their music. But principally they show their love of the gods in daily work, either on the land they farm or out in the wider world, where they teach and heal, perform hand fastings and burials, comfort the dying, and conduct the seasonal rites for farm folk and fisher folk. A very different life, Sibeal, and far away from Sevenwaters. I know several of the people who live there, and I have only good to say of them. I am convinced they would welcome you and Felix to their hearths and their hearts. In turn, you would have much to offer them, and so, I believe, would he.”