Child of the Prophecy (19 page)

Why would you care? I thought savagely. But I formed my answer with caution. "We live a very simple life, a solitary life. He searches for knowledge. He practices his craft. He employs it only rarely. That is his choice."

Conor was silent for a while. Then he asked, "Why has he sent you back?"

Sean glanced at him, frowning slightly.

"A reasonable question." Conor's tone was mild. "Why now? Why would he choose to bring up a daughter on his own, and send her away after—what is it—fifteen, sixteen years?"

"Perhaps he thinks Fainne has a better chance of a good marriage, of some reasonable prospects, if she lives here with the family for a while," Sean said.

"That's only practical. She has a birthright, like all the other children of Sevenwaters, for all—" he stopped himself abruptly.

"Fainne?" Conor was not going to let his question go unanswered.

"We thought it was time." This seemed to me a good answer. It was true; and it gave nothing away.

"So it appears," said Conor, and that was the end of it for now. He did not ask, Time for what?

All too soon we were back on our horses and riding forward again.

"It's a little awkward, Fainne," Sean said after a while. "I must be blunt with you, and you may not like this. To reveal your father's identity to our kinsmen and allies and to the community of Sevenwaters would create a difficulty. It would be extremely awkward for this stage of our negotiations. But I've no wish to lie about it."

"Lie?" My astonishment was quite genuine. "Why would you need to lie?"

He gave a grim smile. "Because even now, all these years later, folk still do not know the truth. Not the whole truth. That Niamh became disturbed in her mind, that she fled to the south and was later widowed, that they do know. Within our own household, a little more, maybe. But it's thought, generally, that she retired to a Christian convent and later died there. The sudden appearance of a daughter must somehow be explained, for anyone who knew my sister must recognize you instantly as her child."

I felt Conor's eyes on me, brooding and intent, though I was looking away.

"Why not tell the truth? My parents loved each other. I know they were unwed; but that is not such great cause for shame. It's not as if I were a boy, and out to claim lands or leadership."

Sean looked at Conor. Conor said nothing.

"Fainne," Sean seemed to be choosing his words with care, "did your father ever explain to you why he could not wed your mother?"

I held my anger in check. "He does not willingly speak of her. I know their union was forbidden by blood. I know that my father left the forest, and the wise ones, when he discovered the truth about his own parentage. Later, he found her again, and that was how I came to be. But it was too late for them."

There was a little silence.

"Yes," said Sean. "Dan Walker brought us news of my sister's death, though as ever he told only what Ciaran had bid him tell, no more. It's a long time ago. You must hardly remember her."

I tightened my lips and did not reply.

"I'm sorry, Fainne," Sean said, slowing his horse to a walk as we traversed a gushing stream on its way down the hillside. "Sorry you did not have the chance to know her. For all her faults, my sister was a lovely girl, full of life and beauty. She'd have been proud of you."

You think so? Then why did she leave us on our own? Why did she choose that way? "Maybe," I said.

"To the matter in question," Sean went on. "It's a little awkward. Your mother was wed to a chieftain of the Ui Neill, a very powerful clan with two warring factions. In recent years we have been called upon to assist the leader of the northern branch in his venture against the Norsemen, and this has taken a toll on our resources and our energies for a long time. Eventually Aed Finnliath triumphed. The invaders have been swept clean from the shores of Ulster, and the peace sealed by a marriage between Aed Finnliath's daughter and a noble of the Finn-ghaill. Our support of this venture was essential not only for our own security, but to rebuild our ties with the Ui Neill of Tirconnell, which were set back by the failure of your mother's marriage. This has taken patience and diplomacy of the highest order, in addition to the diversion of our forces from the venture most dear to our hearts. The northern Ui Neill are seated this day at our council table at Sevenwaters while we formulate a strategy for our own enterprise. This will be the most important campaign of our lives. Your arrival presents a difficulty. The husband we so carefully chose for Niamh proved a cruel man, and it was to escape him she fled from a place of apparent safety, all those years ago. That fact is not known outside our family. We let folk know that she was alive; it was generally believed that she had developed a sickness of the mind, and had retreated to a house of prayer. Her husband died soon after; there was no need to speak of what he had done. Only a handful of people knew she went to join your father. Myself; my sister and her husband. My uncles. That is all. Even my wife does not know the full story. That Niamh left Fionn Ui Neill for another man, that she bore a child by a partner forbidden to her, these things are best kept secret, for your own sake as well as that of our alliance."

"I see," I said tightly.

"I'm sorry if this is distressing for you." Sean's tone was kind; that only seemed to make me feel worse. "It makes no difference to your welcome here, Fainne. You bear no responsibility for the actions of your parents. You are a daughter of this household and will be treated as such."

"You just prefer me to pretend I have no father, is that it?" These words were out before I could stop them, before I could veil the anger in my voice. How dare they? How dare they ask me to deny my strong, clever, wise father, who had been everything to me?

"This hurts you," said Conor. "He was a youth of outstanding qualities. No doubt he became a man to be proud of. We understand that. Niamh and Ciaran were young. They made a mistake, and they paid for it dearly. There is no need for you to pay as well."

"This can be handled with no need for lies." It appeared that Sean had already made the decision. "We can simply provide folk with as much of the truth as suits our purpose. There is no reason why Niamh should not have wed again after her husband's death. We will let it be known that your father was a druid of good family. We will say that Niamh bore her daughter in the south, some time after Fiona's untimely passing. You are now returned to your rightful home and the protection of your family. That must be explanation enough. Few people outside the nemetons knew of Ciaran's existence, let alone his true identity. As for our guests of the alliance, we will not draw undue attention to your presence while they are in the house. Eamonn could be a problem."

"A pity Liadan is not here," observed Conor.

"We'll need to let her know," Sean said. " ' I'll do that. You look weary, niece. Perhaps you should ride with me the last part of the way."

"I'm fine," I said, gritting my teeth. It was asking a lot: that I go into some dank, dreary place where endless trees blocked out the west wind, deny my father, let some girl tell me what to do and be my watchdog, and take care not to draw attention to myself, all because of their precious alliance. It was becoming rapidly apparent to me that I would have to listen hard and learn quickly if I were to have any chance of achieving the task my grandmother had set me. The men of Sevenwaters were clever and confident; these two would be formidable opponents, and there might well be more like them when we got there. There were complications here I could not even guess at, alliances and strategies and power plays. I had learned nothing in Kerry to prepare me for this. Who was Eamonn? Why would he be a problem? My father had never mentioned such a person. I would find out. And for now I would play Uncle Sean's game. But inside me, I would never forget whose daughter I was. Never. These were the men who had snatched away my father's hope and quenched my mother's dreams. Maybe they had put that behind them, but I would not forget it.

We crossed a lot of streams gurgling downhill under the trees. Then we came out from under a stand of willows, and before us there opened a great, shimmering expanse of water, its surface clear and light in the sun and dotted with little islets and the forms of drifting birds: geese, ducks, perfect white swans. We halted.

"The lake of Sevenwaters," said Sean softly. "Our keep is on the far side, to the east. The track is easy from here. You're doing well, Fainne."

I took a deep breath and tried to ease my aching back. I was glad to see the water; to be free of that endless prison of trees closing in around me. The lake was very beautiful, with its pearly sheen, its wide surface open to the sky, its little quiet coves and its unseen, secret life.

"Seven streams flow into the lake," said Conor. "They are its lifeblood. There is only one way out; the river that flows north and then eastward to the great water. The lake nourishes the forest. The forest guards the folk of Sevenwaters, and it is their sacred charge to defend and protect it and all the mysteries it holds. This you will come to know in time."

"Maybe," I said. And maybe, I thought, you will come to know that all is not as it seems; that for some, the path does not always lead to light and order. You may learn that life can be cruel and unjust.

"You could let her go now," said Conor.

"What?"

"You could let her go now. The owl. See how she looks out and turns her head skywards. She's ready to go back."

I stared at him, mute, and the small owl climbed out of my pocket to perch, teetering a little, on the back of the horse's neck. The bird was somewhat steadier now, for I had tended it carefully enough. But this was no Aoife. The horse shuddered and shied, and I gripped its mane and clung on to keep from being thrown. In an instant my uncle Sean had the creature's bridle in his hand and was holding her still, with calming words.

"What is that?" he asked, in a tone reminiscent of Darragh's.

As for Conor, he sat there silent. Having stirred up trouble, he now left me to deal with it.

"It was captive. I—traded for it. That was all. It wouldn't fly away."

"I have never seen an owl so small, yet fully grown. There's some magic in this, surely." Sean's tone was quite matter-of-fact. I should not, I suppose, have been surprised at that, for this was Sevenwaters, a place where old mysteries were kept safe.

"She won't go until it's undone," Conor said, moving his horse closer. "Shall I?" He reached out a hand and passed it gently over the tiny creature, and immediately the bird was itself again: still small, still somewhat bedraggled, but owl-size, and strong enough to make its own way in the woods. Sean was having difficulty controlling the wild-eyed horse.

"Go safe now," said Conor, and obediently the creature spread its tattered wings and flew, with never a sound, with never a look back; up, up into the treetops, and away into the shadowy embrace of the forest. I said not a word.

"You did well, bringing her home." Conor's tone was tranquil.

"I didn't bring her," I said rather crossly. "She gave me no choice."

"There's always a choice," said the druid.

There were altogether too many of them. Girls everywhere: spilling down the steps of the stone keep where at last we ended our journey, bigger girls tugging at their father's hands, chattering and laughing as their mother came out to greet me, tiny girls running about and teasing the huge dogs.

"Enough, daughters," said Sean with a smile, and in an instant they disappeared, as obedient as they were exuberant. I had not been able to count, they were so quick. Five? Six?

"I'm your aunt Aisling," said the slight, rather severe-looking woman who stood on the steps. A neat veil kept her red hair in place, and her freckled face was intent and serious. "You're very welcome here, as no doubt my husband has told you. It's a busy time. We have many guests in the house. Muirrin will look after you."

"Where is Muirrin?" inquired my uncle as we made our way inside. The horses had been quickly led away. As for Conor, he had quite simply vanished. Perhaps the bevy of little girls had been too much for him.