Child of the Prophecy (14 page)

"It's too far for Fainne to walk," he said to his mother.

"Lass'll do well enough," Peg said, looking at him sidelong with a rather odd expression. "She's not a cripple."

"I—I would—" was as much as I got out. Two pairs of eyes regarded me intently, and I knew they knew what I was trying to say.

"Tell you what," said Darragh casually. "I'll take Fainne with me. Won't hurt Aoife to carry one more. I'll drop her off near the oaks, make sure we find you before I head off for the sale lines. Be easier for all concerned."

"If that's what you want," said his mother dryly. "Don't be late,

now."

"No, Mam," grinned Darragh, and advanced to where I stood scowling under the trees, empty porridge bowl in hand. "Ready?" he queried with a lift of the brows.

"I don't even want to go," I grumbled.

"Well, you can't stay here on your own, so there's no choice really, is there?" he said lightly. "You'll need a kerchief on your head, it's windy riding. Best plait up your hair, too. Want me to do it for you?"

"I certainly do not!" I snapped. "I'm not a baby. I'll do it myself."

"Don't be long," he said calmly.

One of the other girls offered to help with my hair, and because I was in a hurry, I let her. This I regretted soon enough.

"Special treatment, huh?" she queried as her fingers worked their way through the thick, intractable mass of russet curls.

I could not look at her, to quell her gossip with an expression of disdain. I was forced, therefore, to reply. "What do you mean?"

"Getting a ride with Darragh. He's never done that before, taken a girl up to the Cross with him. Too many lasses after him, that's his problem. Very careful, is Darragh. Doesn't play favorites."

I could scarcely think of what to say. I might have slapped her face, if she had not had hold of my hair.

"There's no favorites about it," I whispered angrily. "He's just being helpful, that's all, because I can't walk very fast." I moved my right foot slightly, to show the boot that was a different shape from an ordinary one.

"That?" said the girl, offhand. "That's nothing much. You'd keep up all right. Got a bit of ribbon, have you?"

I handed her the blue ribbon, over my shoulder.

"No. You're favored all right. Not like him to hang around waiting, first day of the fair. He's always the earliest one off, straight after sun-up. Horse mad, Darragh is. Wait till he turns up at the Cross with you behind him. Break a few of the lasses' hearts, that will."

"You're wrong, I'm sure," I said, feeling my cheeks grow hot with embarrassment. "It's just that—that I am not one of you. A—a stranger, a guest. He's being polite. That's all."

The girl tied the ribbon neatly and firmly. "Maybe," she said, leaning around with a little grin that marked her out as another of Peg's seemingly endless brood. She must, therefore, be Darragh's sister. I could not even remember her name. "And maybe not." And then she was off in a flurry of red skirts and a twinkle of gold earrings, before I could even think of saying thank you.

She was completely wrong, of course. Darragh and I were old friends, that was all. And Darragh thought I would be a nuisance and get into trouble if he did not play watchdog. Anything else was far too difficult to contemplate. I tied the little kerchief with its blue border over my newly braided hair, and went out to where he waited, with no sign of impatience, while Aoife cropped tranquilly at the grass. It seemed as if Dan and the men and the other lads were already gone. Peg and Molly were organizing bigger children to carry younger ones, and making use of a couple of old horses to bear baskets and babies.

Darragh was looking at me with an odd expression, almost as if he were going to laugh.

"Quite the little traveling girl," he remarked. "All you need's a finishing touch, and you'll blend right in. Here." He reached under his jacket and brought out a bundle of silk-soft cloth, neatly folded. As I took it in my hands it flowed out of itself and was revealed as a dazzling shawl of many colors, closely patterned with tiny creatures, delicate and jewel-like, leaf-green lizards, vivid blue birds, golden butterflies and exotic, rainbow fish with fronded tails. The shawl was fringed with long shining tassels, somewhere between gold and silver. It was the most beautiful garment I had ever seen.

"I can't wear this," I said, staring at it. It seemed fit only for a princess.

"No?" said Darragh, and he plucked it out of my hands and put it around my shoulders, tying the ends in front. "Come on," he said. "I promised not to be late. Not scared to ride a pony, are you?"

"Of course not!" I retorted.

"Well, then."

With him helping, it wasn't too hard to scramble up on Aoife's back. I'd thought I would have to cling on behind him, as his sister had said; but he put me up in front, sitting across like a lady, and held onto me with one arm while the other hand kept a light hold on the reins. It seemed to me, as we went, that Aoife knew what he wanted almost without being told. When there was a fork in the track, Darragh would say a quiet word, and she'd go one way or the other. He'd touch her with his knee, or put a brown hand on her glossy white neck, and she'd understand straight away what he wanted.

"All right?" he asked me once or twice, and I nodded. In fact, it was better than all right. It felt like old times; like the days of silent companionship we had shared as children. Those times were lost now. I knew that. But for as long as this ride might take, I could pretend that nothing had changed. I could feel the soft touch of the wonderful shawl with its vibrant pattern of life, enfolding me like a talisman of protection; I could almost believe I was one of the traveling folk, riding to the fair as bold as could be, and behind me, with his arm around my waist, a fine fellow who was the best piper in all of Kerry. Here I was, riding on the whitest and cleverest pony you ever saw, with the wind in my face, and the strange, stark shapes of distant hills on the one side, and the waters of a vast inlet on the other, bordered by a rocky shore, with here and there a little beach and a boat or two drawn up for safekeeping. There were not so many folk about, not now. Perhaps we really were late. Darragh didn't seem bothered, and Aoife made her way as if she were the only creature of importance on the road anyway. We had passed Peg and Molly and the children, and Darragh's sister had winked at me.

After a while I said to him, "What's your sister's name?"

"Which one?"

"The one with the red skirt, and a bold sort of way with her. The next one down from you, I think."

There was a little pause. "Why don't you ask her?" said Darragh.

I made no reply.

"They don't bite, Fainne," he said, but there was no reproach in his tone. "That'd be Roisin. Been giving you cheek, has she?"

"Not really."

"You need to watch out for her. She'll say just what she thinks, if she's a mind to."

"Mm," I said. "I've noticed."

"She's a good girl, though. They all are."

All too soon we were there. I had never seen so many people all in the one place, nor heard such a din of voices. There was a sort of order in it, if you looked close enough. The real business was over where the horses were, with little groups of farmers and traveling men and a few with the air of a local lord or a master at arms, checking teeth and inspecting hooves, and conducting intense, private conversations. Nearer at hand, folk were trading for a variety of goods, and chattering, and there was a smell of something good roasting over a little fire, and I could see the covered cart of the Grand Master and his voluble henchman. From a distance, someone called out to Darragh. We came to a halt under a stand of great trees.

"Well, then," he said, and slipped from Aoife's back, light as a feather. "Here we are." He lifted me down, and stood there with his hands around my waist. "Ah," he said. "A smile. That's a rare treat."

I reached out to pat Aoife's well-groomed flank. "Not selling her, are you?" I queried.

"Her? Not likely. Couldn't part with her, not now. She's my luck."

I nodded. "Someone's calling you," I said.

Darragh took his hands away. "Not sure I can go," he said, frowning. "Mam's not here yet, and I said I'd make certain I found them for you. And up there's no place for a girl," jerking his head toward the horse lines.

Another voice yelled out, "Darragh! You're needed here!"

"You'd better go," I said, with more courage than I felt. "I can wait here under the oaks and look out for the others."

Darragh's brown eyes regarded me very closely. "Sure?"

"I'm not a child. I think I can be relied on to wait a little and not get lost."

"Promise you'll stay out of trouble."

"Don't be ridiculous."

"Promise, or I'll be obliged to wait here with you."

"Darragh!" This time it was Dan Walker who was calling.

"This is stupid. All right, I promise."

"See you later, then." He tweaked the corner of my kerchief, turned on his heel and was gone, with Aoife walking obediently beside him, steady as a rock in the seething, noisy press of the crowd.

I did mean it, when I promised. I really did. But you can't help who you are, and what you are. Sometimes things happen, and you have to act, you simply cannot stop yourself. That was how it was, that morning at the Cross.

I melted into the shadows under the big trees, wishing I had the power to command invisibility. For now I could stand here unobserved, brilliant-colored shawl or no, since all attention was on the Grand Master's cart. It was being opened and unpacked not ten strides away from me, to much craning of necks and ooh-ing and aah-ing from the crowd assembled around it. The lanky assistant was doing most of the work and all the talking, while the Master himself stood there in his tattered apology for a wizard's cloak, staring down his beak of a nose and doing his best to look haughty and mysterious. There was less magic in that lugubrious fellow, I thought, than I had in my smallest ringer. You could see at first glance that he was a fake, and it was astonishing that folk seemed to be taken in by it.

The assistant was a very busy man. Soon the area to each side of the cart was a gaudy array of banners and netting, with many little cages hung on poles, in each of which was a strange creature that might be obtained for a price, to amuse a sweetheart or make a neighbor jealous. I edged a little closer, but it was hard to see without being seen. In the cage nearest to me there was a forlorn-looking bird, an owl sort of thing with ragged plumage. It edged from side to side on its perch, the movements jerky, the eyes round and wild. Below it, some furry creature sat, with a clawed hand curled around the bars of its small prison, and its head leaning over as if feigning sleep. On the other side, something was uttering shrill screeches, and folk were pointing, with little exclamations.

"Now, my fine ladies, my estimable lords, my fortunate young ones!" The assistant was shouting; essential over the racket. "Come closer, come closer, and the Master will show you the amazing remedies we have for you this year, some tried and true, some wondrous new discoveries, all astonishingly effective."

He went on in this vein for some time. I glanced around. There was still no sign of Peg and Molly and the others. I moved closer. I could see the source of the noise now: a brightly colored bird tethered to a perch on the far side of the cart. Behind it were more caged creatures. Doves. Finches. A pale-furred hare, confined very close, so close it could not turn, let alone flex its strong legs and spring as was the way of its kind. There was a boy there, poking his finger in at it, and the creature had not even the room to flinch away. I looked into its eyes: blank, staring eyes where panic had overtaken reason. The bird screamed again, and it seemed to me it was crying out the rage and the fear of all of them, for being shut up and put on show and looked at, for being a thing of beauty shackled and gawked at and enjoyed, and then thrown away without further thought.

The man was going on about a potion of strength. He pretended to drink a little, and then chose a big fellow from the crowd to come up and fight him. The result was inevitable. The two of them made a pretense of sparring, and then the Master's assistant felled his much larger opponent with a careful tap to the jaw. The giant collapsed, and the crowd gasped. After a short pause, during which a child was heard to say, "Is he dead Mam?," the fellow began to groan, and was hauled to his feet, rubbing his jaw and rolling his eyes. There was a babble of excitement, and an eager jostle of buyers. I wondered how much they had paid the large man for his performance.