Son of the Shadows (61 page)

Instead, it was I

who cried out, in my mind, Where are you? Show me. Show me

. But there was nothing as I waited, cold with misgivings, until the first pale light of dawn touched the sky.

I told the bleary-eyed nursemaid I was going out for the day and taking Johnny with me. In particular, I

told her to explain, if anyone should ask, that I had taken an escort and gone on a short visit, and that I

would be back in plenty of time to see my Uncle Liam laid to rest. I had no wish to be at home that day.

I had business of my own.

I had already perfected a method of transporting Johnny on my trips through the forest, and now I

hoisted him onto my back, tied in a strong length of sacking whose ends fastened over my shoulder and around my waist. He enjoyed this type of ride, which held him close to the warmth of my body but allowed him to see the rocks and sky and the many colors and patterns of oak and ash, birch and hazel.

When he was a man, I thought, as we made our way soft-footed down a leaf-strewn path my Uncle

Conor had once shown me, he would bear the memory of these shapes and hues deep within; and like all the children of Sevenwaters, he would find it hard to be long away from the forest.

I went quickly. If the Sight were to be denied me, now when I most needed to see, I must seek out what information I could by whatever means I might find. And now that my mother was gone, there was only

one person I could think of who would help me without making any sort of judgment; without
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trying to tell me what I should do, and what I should not.

It began to rain lightly, but the great oaks sheltered us; and by the time I was scrambling up the banks of the seventh stream, where it tumbled down the rocky hillside into the calm waters of the lake, the clouds had thinned to let a weak sunlight through. Fiacha flew in short bursts, now ahead of us, now behind, keeping pace, keeping watch. There was no chance of getting cold; covering this distance so quickly, with Johnny on my back, had made sure of that. And indeed I found I had to stop and catch my breath more and more frequently. Perhaps the visitations of the Sight had weakened me, or maybe my body was not as fully recovered after my son's birth as I had thought.

Be strong, Liadan. You have to be strong

. At last I came by the clustered rowans, again bright with autumn's fruit, and slipped in under the willows. There before me was the secret spring, the small, round pool encircled by smooth stones, a place of deep quiet. I unfastened the cloth that held my son against my back. Johnny had fallen asleep, and I laid him down carefully in bracken under the trees. He did not stir.

Fiacha settled on a branch nearby.

Uncle

? My mind was already reaching out as I went to sit on the stones by the water.

I need your help

.

I'm here, Liadan

. And he was, standing on the other side, pale face, tangled dark hair, shapeless garments not quite concealing the white swathe of wing feathers. His expression was calm, his eyes clear.

My Uncle Liam is dead, taken by a British arrow.

I know this. Conor already makes his way to Sevenwaters. But I will not go. Not this time.

Uncle, I have seen some terrible visions. I saw Liam's death, and I did not warn them until it was too late. My brother said

—

he said

—

/

know. It is very hard. There is no way to escape this guilt, Daughter. I have lived with it long years. Tour brother will learn, as my own brothers did in time, that the Sight cannot be controlled;

that such warnings, if given, can reap a harvest far more bitter than that of events left to their true course. Tour brother is young. In time, he will be as strong as Liam was. Perhaps I nodded.

I, too, see this, and I told him so. But I was shown another future, one in which Sean was old and quite alone. A future in which Seven-waters was empty. Desolate. To change that pattern, I would risk much. I would challenge those who shape our course, however strong they may be

.

Finbar gave a deep chuckle, startling me. "Oh, Liadan. If my path had been different, and I had been blessed with a daughter, I would have wished for just such a one as yourself. Do you not challenge the set ways of our lives at every turn? Now come, you wish for guidance, for a vision that shows true; I see it in your eyes, and I read your urgency there. You have wept long, and I believe I can guess why."

"My candle, my little flame in the darkness—I could not light it, though I tried and tried. And there has been no word, just a terrible silence. And now the visions have ceased, and I cannot see him; I cannot hear his voice. And I saw Aisling, I saw—"

"I will help you. If truth is to be shown you, it will be here among these ancient stones. Your child sleeps sound. There is time. Come, open your mind to mine and let us look in the water together."

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So we sat on the stones and felt that we were held safe, as in the strong, supporting warmth of a mother's hands. Finbar was on one side of the pool and I on the other. I let go the shields on my mind, and he did the same, and our thoughts blended and grew calm together. Time passed, perhaps a long time, perhaps not long at all, and the only sounds were the small rustling of insects in the grass and the high calling of

birds overhead and the wind sighing in the willows.

The surface of the water rippled and changed. Something bright shone there, silver flashing in the dark. I

caught my breath. A drinking flask, cunningly made, its surface richly patterned with an ornate, convoluted design, its stopper fashioned of amber in the shape of a little cat, a vessel I had shared with the Painted Man on a day of death and rebirth. There was a hand, reaching to pick up the flask, to remove the stopper. The man raised the flask to his lips to drink, and it was Eamonn. The pool went dark again.

Breathe slow, Liadan. Stay calm

. My uncle sent me an image of still water, of beech leaves in spring sunlight, of a child sleeping. I willed my hammering heart to slow, my mind to put fear aside. I looked in the water again.

This time the images flowed one into another, and I thought their timing true. Aisling, lying facedown on her bed, weeping and weeping until there were no tears left. A serving woman, coming into the room with a tray of food and drink, taking away another such tray, quite untouched. Locking the door. Locking my friend in. Then abruptly we were downstairs in the great hall of Sidhe Dubh. It was nighttime, for torches burned around the walls, and the stone beasts seemed ferocious, as the light flickered and played on their tiny, malign features. Staring eyes, grasping claws, pointed teeth, fiery tongues. Now I could see two men there: Eamonn, seated in a carven, oak chair, his glossy, brown hair neat on his shoulders, his features composed. Only his eyes betrayed his excitement. And Bran, the fair side of his face a mass of swollen bruising, a deep cut oozing over his eye, and a livid purple mark all around his neck, as if he had come close to death by strangling. There was a look of gloating triumph in Eamonn's brown eyes.

"Knowing your penchant for the severing of the extremities," he observed smoothly, "I've decided to start with the smallest ringer and work my way gradually inward. Interesting, to see how much pain a man can bear. But perhaps a black man does not feel it as we do."

Bran's voice was quiet and level. "I will not bargain for his safety, nor he for mine."

Eamonn gave a derisive laugh. "I had not planned to allow room for negotiation. You gave me none when you butchered my men before my eyes. I thought only to keep you informed of your friend's progress.

You're going to need something to occupy your mind, where you're going. Oh yes, I've plans for you.

The two of you will provide me with good entertainment before the end. I'm told you have a certain distaste for enclosed spaces, a reluctance to quench lights. Who'd have thought it- The Painted Man, afraid of the dark?"

There was a brief silence.

"You disgust me," said Bran. "You're a traitor, just like your father. Did he not turn on his allies as you have done? They say he was despised and reviled on both sides of the water. No wonder Liam arranged his demise before he could do more harm. Heard that story, have you? It's a very public secret. Your own grandfather was party to it, as well as the dubious Hugh of Harrowfield.

They thought to see you grow up a better man than your father. A futile hope, as it turned out.

What price did you pay for the two of us, Eamonn Dubh?"

"Don't use that name." Eamonn rose and stepped toward his captive. He moved cautiously, as if constrained by some injury. There was, perhaps, a strapping around the ribs, concealed by his
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shirt. His hand came up and delivered a stinging blow, hard across Bran's face. I saw that Bran's hands were tightly bound, and that his ankles were hobbled together; and that for all his apparent control, this blow made him sway where he stood. "Liam is dead," Eamonn went on.

"There is a new master at

Sevenwaters, one who is young and untried. Their position is greatly weakened."

"Dead. How?" Bran's eyes narrowed. This, he clearly had not known.

"That need not concern you, for you will never leave here, outlaw. I will have my sport with you and the black savage you call friend, and then you will be—disposed of. You'll simply vanish without trace. Folk are saying you betrayed Sevenwaters to the Britons. Later, they will say Liam's people moved swiftly to avenge his loss and remove you permanently. Don't think to question my actions. What could a man such as yourself know of alliances and loyalties? Surely you could scarce comprehend the meaning of these terms."

"If I have no loyalties of my own," said Bran, never taking his eyes off Eamonn's face, "at least I have none to betray." He seemed to be thinking very hard indeed, as if trying to solve a puzzle.

Eamonn gave a little cough. "What has occurred is—unfortunate. But it may work to my advantage.

What if my grandfather, and the Ui Neill, learned that young Sean had made a bargain with the Painted

Man? What if they learned his sister had lain with an outlaw, spread her legs for him under the bushes as they camped by the wayside? The reputation of Sevenwaters might not well recover from that."

Bran held his voice level. "In time, you will regret these words. You may hold me captive now, and believe me helpless. But each foul word you speak of her brings your death a little closer."

"You are foolish if you do not understand why I paid such a high price to have you within my grasp.

From the time you killed my men, I marked you for death. But once I knew it was you who had taken

Liadan from me, once

I knew it was your filthy hands that had touched her, I'd have paid a king's ransom. I wonder what her mother thought, hearing on her deathbed that her daughter had thrown herself away on gutter scum?

Once I knew the truth, it was only a matter of time for you. I would have paid whatever it took for the satisfaction of watching you suffer and die. Feeling a little faint, are you? Your man will be in pain tonight.

The touch of hot iron on a fresh wound does sting. He never cried out. Not once. Amazing fortitude."

There was no response. Bran's eyes were remote, as if he had somehow distanced himself from where he was and what he heard. Eamonn was pacing now.

"You don't like to hear me speak of Liadan, or of the child, do you? That's odd, considering the way you treated her."

"Choose your words with care."

"Huh! And you trussed up like a roasting chicken, unable to shuffle a step without falling. A man who cannot endure a moonless night without a lantern by his side; a man who fears his own dreams. Your defiance amuses me, mongrel."

"I have warned you. You tread on thin ice when you speak of her before me."

"I'll speak all I want, miscreant. This is my home, and my hall, and you are my prisoner. I'll tell you what I

have long wished to tell you. You think you have some claim on the daughter of Sevenwaters because you corrupted her; because you took advantage of her innocence, and turned her against
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me. But she is not yours, and never has been. If she told you that, she lied to you. A woman tells the truth only when it suits her. Liadan was promised to me long since, when we were no more than children. And she's a generous girl. I knew her body, every sweet part of it, before ever you laid your ugly hands on her." He paused for effect. "Amusing, isn't it? There's really no telling if the child is yours or mine."

There was complete silence, and now Bran could no longer keep the fury from his eyes or control his

ragged breathing.

"No. Oh, no," I whispered, and I caught Finbar's silent warning.

Be still, Liadan, if you would, not lose this image

.

"You're lying," said Bran. His voice had lost its steadiness.

"Am I? I think you would find it difficult to prove this one way or the other. Where is your evidence?"

Bran took a deep breath and made an attempt to square his shoulders. It seemed to me there were other bruises there that were not visible. He looked Eamonn straight in the eye.

"I need no evidence," he said quietly, his voice now under precarious control. "Liadan would not lie to me. I would trust her with my life. You cannot poison what is between us with your foul words. She is my light in the darkness, and Johnny is my pathway ahead."

Tears were streaming down my face as I watched Eamonn summoning his guards and Bran being dragged out of the hall. "Get the mongrel out of my sight." Eamonn's voice was cold.

"Put him in the dark where he belongs. Let him rot there."

Then Eamonn was alone, and his face was less than calm. He poured a tankard of ale and drained it, and hurled the empty cup across the room with such violence that the metal split on the stones of the hearth.

"You'll swallow those words before I'm done with you," he whispered. Darkness spread across the surface of the pool.