Seer of Sevenwaters (55 page)

I stared at him, unable to think past the conflicting feelings that rushed through me—joy, horror, hope, shock, disbelief. “You—
you
—are advising me to give up my vocation?”

He smiled again, but his eyes were sad. “You know, I don’t believe I am. Yes, this choice would mean you did not make your final vows at Sevenwaters. It would mean we lost you to our own nemetons, and that would be a great loss indeed, to Conor and myself especially. But, Sibeal, my dear, you are so full of spirit, you are so rich in faith, it matters not at all what path you choose. Whether as wife and mother, or as druid, or as teacher in Kerry, or even at court in Armorica if your path should lead you there, you will live your life fully in the love of the gods. They laid their hands over you when you were a small child. You have never wavered, Sibeal; and their love for you has never weakened, even when their voices could not reach you. You should go forward in joy and confidence, knowing whatever you choose will be right.”

His words sounded in me like a song. They were a precious gift, as precious as Felix’s love. They held a wisdom that could keep me strong until the day I died. “But I thought—didn’t you send me here because I couldn’t cope?”

“Sometimes your ability comes close to overwhelming you, yes, and that concerned me. I weighed that in the balance before telling you of the community in Kerry. Certainly, your gifts would be better guarded if you chose to stay in the safety of the nemetons. But with Felix by your side, I know you would be strong enough to live your life in that more open world. Sibeal, my reasons for sending you to Inis Eala were many. Among them was my wish that you spend time with your sisters. I wanted you to reach a fuller understanding of what you would be giving up to become a druid. I did not send you here to have your heart broken, Sibeal. We can’t have that, my dear.” He stepped forward and put his arms around me as a father would, and I held on, feeling his deep strength pass into me, and thinking, not for the first time, how remarkable he was, how selfless and how wise. As was Clodagh. How lucky I was in my family and in my friends.

“Take time to consider this,” Ciarán murmured. “But not too long. I’ve been talking to Johnny. Felix has a great deal of unfinished business to attend to, starting with a trip to accompany the survivors to Munster. Then he should go to Armorica to take the news of his brother’s death home. He’ll most likely be gone a year, Sibeal, and he and Sigurd are leaving in ten days’ time.”

“Ten days?” I lifted my head from his chest and looked up into his mulberry eyes. “So soon?”

“It is perhaps not such a bad thing, if you decide you will go to Kerry. A year provides time for you to speak to your father, and for me to speak to Conor, and then for you and me to travel south so I can introduce you to the Brethren of Brighid. By the time Felix returns, you will be fully informed about what this decision means. Of course, I am assuming he will be amenable to the idea. Have you at any stage suggested to him that he might consider a spiritual life?”

“No, I . . . ” Oh gods, let me not be dreaming. Let me not wake to find myself alone by the scrying pool with my heart still weighed down by sorrow.

“You might put it to him. It seems your Felix never shrinks from a challenge. He may have no religious vocation—that rather depends on how you define vocation—but from Gull’s accounts and Johnny’s, he is a man of good heart and open mind. That, along with his bond with you, would be sufficient to earn him acceptance into the Brethren of Brighid. Sibeal, there’s plenty of time for you and Felix to consider this. The final decision could wait until he comes back from Armorica.”

“I don’t need time,” I said as something bloomed within me, a great, warm, beautiful thing made up of sunshine and moonlight and waves splashing and leaves unfurling and birds winging through a cloudless sky. What Clodagh had said was true. I had grown up. I had learned that being a woman was knowing when to stand firm and when to compromise. I had learned to laugh and weep; I had learned that I was weak as well as strong. I had learned to love. I was no longer a rigid, upright tree that would not flex and bow, even though the gale threatened to snap it in two; I was the willow that bends and shivers and sways, and yet remains strong. “If Felix agrees, I will go to Kerry. It is a long way from Sevenwaters; I’ll miss the family. And I’ll miss you and Conor and the others more than I can tell you. I know I’ll feel lost, at first, without the lore and the ritual and everything that makes the nemetons a sanctuary and a haven. But I’m sure this is right.” I stood on tiptoe and kissed Ciarán on the cheek, something I had never done before. “You’ve just given me a wonderful gift,” I told him.

“Then why are you crying, Sibeal?” His smile was a little crooked; were those tears I saw in his eyes? “Go then, take this news to Felix. I will be surprised if he does not agree to the proposal. I believe you’ll find him close to the place where his brother is buried. At least, he was there when I walked out to find you. We shall speak more of this later.”

“I don’t know how to thank you,” I said as we left the cave. “It’s too much to put into words.”

“Be happy, Sibeal. That is all the thanks I need.”

I saw Felix before he saw me. He was up at the place of the boat burial, sitting on a flat rock with his head bowed onto his drawn-up knees. He looked as I had never seen him before: defeated. And that could not be, not for Felix, who was brave enough for anything. I glanced at Ciarán, who had halted beside me.

“Go on, Sibeal. You don’t need me.” Ciarán headed off along the path toward the settlement, and I began to climb the rise. Walking. Then, as Felix lifted his head and turned swollen, reddened eyes on me, running. He stood up just in time as I reached him and threw myself into his arms, making him stagger.

“Sibeal! What is it, what’s wrong?”

“I—I—” This was no good; he would think disaster had struck. “Felix, I—” I made myself step back, holding his hands in mine.
Quickly, Sibeal, say something that will take that forlorn look off his face, say something that will make this right straightaway.
“Felix,” I said, “I love you. Will you marry me, and go to live in Kerry in a religious community? You might like it, it isn’t like the nemetons, there is music and debate and farming and all kinds of other things, please say yes, it means we can be together after all, and everything’s going to be all right, I can’t believe it, I can’t believe there was this other choice all the time, I can’t believe Ciarán’s prepared to let me go, he even seems to think it’s a good idea—”

The flood of words ceased. I looked up into Felix’s face and saw there the expression I had hoped for, a dawning delight, a wondering smile, blue eyes filling with a hope still tinged with disbelief but growing stronger by the moment. As I gazed, taking my fill of him, knowing there would be more to learn of him every day and every night for all the remaining years of my life, his cautious smile turned to a broad grin, complemented by dimples.

“I say yes, Sibeal, to the only part of that speech I made much sense of. Yes, I will marry you. I can’t believe you asked me. I can’t believe any of it, but I do, because only the most remarkable news could have you laughing, crying and running up a steep hill all at the same time.”

“Now you’re laughing and crying too,” I said, moving close again and putting my arms around his neck, under the fall of his chestnut hair. “You looked so sad. I couldn’t bear it.”

“Oh gods, Sibeal, tell me I’m not dreaming. Is this real? Can it be?”

“It’s real. It’s something Ciarán knew about, but of course he never mentioned it to me, because before I met you there was no need. And before I met you, maybe I would have scorned the Brethren of Brighid—that’s what they’re called—as not being real druids, because they honor the gods with the work of their hands more than with prayer and contemplation. You’ve changed me, Felix. This summer has changed me. And yet, I seem to have kept the old Sibeal as well as finding the new one.”

“I’m glad of that, dearest,” Felix said, and touched his lips softly to my brow, and my temple, and my cheek, and lastly to my mouth. A shiver of delight ran through my body. “The old Sibeal was the one I fell in love with the first day I saw her, though at the time I thought she was a figment of my imagination. I love my little wise druid, with her air of self-containment and her keen analysis of ideas. And I love the woman in my arms, Sibeal. With mind, body and spirit, until the end of time and beyond.”

“You might make a song about that.”

“I expect to make many. Did you say these Brethren of Brighid enjoy music?”

“I’m told they love it. I think we will do very well, dearest.” Speaking thus brought a blush to my cheeks, which was foolish indeed. All the same, it was a good feeling. “Later, we’ll ask Ciarán to tell us more.”

“Come, sit down here with me.” We sat, leaning close, his arm around my shoulders, mine around his waist. Before us lay the settlement of Inis Eala, smoke rising from the kitchen chimney, men moving in and out of the practice yard, someone calling a flock of hens back into a walled enclosure, and the tall figure of Ciarán making his way toward the infirmary. “Did he tell you he had spoken to me?”

“Ciarán? No. What did he say to you? Obviously not what he told me, or you would not have looked as if your world were turning to ashes.”

“I think he was testing me; assessing whether I was a man of good intent or a good-for-nothing fellow who sought to divert his precious Sibeal from her true path. It seems he was satisfied. And it seems he is not the man I took him to be. At the time I was . . . displeased. Unhappy. I did not leave him as courteously as I might have done.”

“He’s heard good reports of you, Felix. Especially from me. He thinks highly of you. Whatever you said, it made the right impression.”

“Sibeal.”

“Mm?” The sensation of his fingers stroking my arm was making it hard to concentrate.

“I have to go away. Perhaps for a whole year. I wish it were not so, but it is necessary.”

“I know. He told me. The time will pass; it must. For now, we have ten days before you must go, ten precious days. We must savor them; store them up for the long time ahead.”

“Sibeal, you may think me foolish, but . . . Paul. I want to give him our good news.”

“He knows,” I said. “Feel how these rocks hold the sun’s kiss. That warmth is Paul’s blessing. His love for you is in the salt air and the smell of smoke from the cooking fire; it’s in every tiny flower and every blade of grass that grows here on this mound.” I would not speak of my vision; he had more than enough to come to terms with. In time, I would tell him. “But speak to him if you will; I believe he hears every word.”

So he spoke; and it was from brother to brother, from heart to heart, private and tender, and not for writing here. When he was done, Felix asked me, “What would you like to do now, my heart?”

“Sit here with you awhile longer,” I said. “And then run down there and tell absolutely everyone.”

~Felix~

The boat is ready to take us across to the mainland. Today we start our long journey south to Muredach’s court. The box that holds the sad remnant of Eoghan’s courting gift is stowed, and six oarsmen wait to row us over. On the jetty and along the shore, many folk wait to wave us farewell. It has been a strange season at Inis Eala. The summer of the shipwreck. The summer of the sea woman. For me, it was the summer I lost my brother and found my true love. Now summer is nearly over, and it is time to say goodbye.

We stand near the top of the path, with the wind in our hair and the vast sweep of ocean below us, stretching all the way to the stark pinnacles of the serpent isle. Sibeal’s hands are in mine, warm and sure. Her eyes hold something of the sea and the sky in them. Today they are wide, clear, full of hope and love.

“It may not seem so long,” she says. “Every day, every moment I’ll hold you in my heart, Felix. With every breath I’ll think of you. I promise.”

I lift her hands to my lips, thinking how composed she is, and how different she was when she came to me laughing and crying, and threw herself into my arms, and asked me to marry her, all at once. As long as I live, I will treasure that moment.

“I, too, dear one,” I say. “When I make a song of this, it will not be a lament, but a celebration. We may travel far from each other, but each turning of the season will bring us closer together.” A year. At this moment it seems an eternity, but I will not say so. I study her sweet, grave face, her skin pale as moonlight, her lips both enticing and severe, her beautiful eyes. I have already committed these things to memory; I will need them in the time to come.

“I love you, Felix,” Sibeal says softly, and puts her arms around me. “More than the stars in the sky. More than the trees in the forest. More than the waves in the sea.”

I gather her close and kiss her on the lips. Someone down on the jetty gives a piercing whistle; we are in full view. “I love you,” I say, and suddenly there are no words left in me, but those three are enough. We hold on fiercely. The last precious moments slip away.

“Felix!” someone yells from down there. “Get a move on!”

“I’m not saying goodbye.” Sibeal’s voice is barely audible; a tear trembles in her eye. “Wherever our paths take us, you will be with me, and I will be with you. Come, we’d best go down.”

Hand in hand we descend the steep path to the bay, where Sigurd, Colm and Donn are already aboard the small boat. I embrace Gull; I bid farewell to Johnny, to Gareth, to Cathal, to all the fine friends of this summer. I step aboard, and the rowers take up their blades.

She stands on the jetty, a slight, upright figure in her blue gown. The wind lifts her dark curls around her face. I will see her in my dreams, every night. A year of dreams. I lift my hand: half wave, half salute. She raises hers: half wave, half blessing. The oars move; the boat turns. We head for the mainland, and the long journey home.