Child of the Prophecy (22 page)

My daily life remained an effort, even when it grew more familiar. It was exhausting. I knew I would never get used to the people, the company, the need to speak the obvious and listen to the tedious, the need to participate. If you are brought up to solitude and silence, you never lose the craving for it. Sometimes I was tempted to pack a little bag and walk away, forest or no forest, Grandmother or no Grandmother. But such a venture was doomed to failure. The place was bristling with armed men, and the girls were forbidden to go past a certain point without an escort. In these times, Clodagh told me very seriously, one could not be too careful.

The Council drew to a close. I had watched to see who the representative from Inis Eala might be, for I wished to learn more of Aunt Liadan and her husband, and the fabled Johnny. But I detected no new faces at supper, and saw no riders come into the yard on the day my uncle Sean spoke of it. In the end I asked Muirrin outright.

"Are not the folk of Inis Eala represented at the Council?" I tried to sound casual. "And what about Harrowfield? If Johnny is the heir to Sevenwaters, why is not he or his father present? Do they play no role in this undertaking, whatever it is?"

Muirrin glanced at me as she stirred a pot over her small fire. "Harrowfield is not part of this," she said. "That estate has always

remained outside the feud; they distance themselves from North-woods, who is our true enemy, for all they share a border. That has not changed since Liadan and the Chief took control there. For that reason, the Chief never comes to Sevenwaters. He walks a delicate path, though, for he still maintains a keen interest in the affairs of Inis Eala. And Inis Eala was most certainly represented at the Council. This venture cannot go ahead without them."

"The Chief?" I queried.

"Aunt Liadan's husband. Everyone calls him that. His real name is Bran, the raven."

"Who came from Inis Eala for the Council?" I asked. "I saw nobody arriving."

Now Muirrin wore a little frown. "Why does that interest you?"

she queried.

"I'm just trying to learn about the family. Johnny seems very important. And Aunt Liadan was my mother's sister."

"Yes, it's a pity she was not here to meet you," said Muirrin, tasting a little of her mixture and making a face. "Oh dear, I'll need honey, I think. Could you reach it down, Fainne? It's no wonder you didn't see the man they sent. The Chief's folk are masters of invisibility." She saw my expression, and laughed. "Oh, no magic involved, I assure you. It's their trademark and great skill to come in and out unseen and to adopt what disguises they must, so they are not remembered. That's another reason the Chief doesn't come himself. You'd always remember him. A man came and left. That's all."

"Why would you always remember the—the Chief?"

"You'll know if you ever meet him. But he would not come to a Council of this kind. As I said, he is at pains to appear neutral. Besides, he has too many enemies and even now is not fully trusted by all of Father's allies."

"Really? Then why are his folk from Inis Eala involved? Isn't that risky for him?"

"Because of Johnny." She did not speak this name in the awed tone her sisters used. But she was deeply serious. "Johnny's a symbol. The son of the raven. He must lead this venture, and he cannot do so without his father's support. Besides, the Chief's unique skills and Johnny's special forces are an essential part of the campaign. It can't work without them. That's what Father says."

"And where does your uncle Eamonn fit into all this?"

"Just that he has the largest and best-equipped force of fighting men in all of Ulster," said Muirrin airily. "Hold this, will you, while I strain it through. Thanks. He has to be part of it. They all do. It's Father's job to keep them from each other's throats long enough for the whole thing to work. A bit like being the eldest sister, I should think it is."

I was bursting with questions, but felt I could ask her no more without arousing suspicion. Instead I watched and listened, for my father had trained me to solve puzzles. The man Eamonn was a closed book; difficult, withdrawn. He would sit at the supper table next to Aunt Aisling, and he would be very quiet, almost unnaturally so. One might think his failure to contribute to the conversation was caused by overindulgence in the good ale provided, for he would sit there drinking solidly all evening, and staring into space, and eating little. But his eyes gave him away. I could tell he was listening acutely and storing up whatever might someday be of value to him. And still I caught him watching me, time after time, as if I were the final piece of his puzzle and he had not yet decided where to put me. I looked at him under my lashes. His gaze remained unwavering. He's the one, I thought. He's the one Grandmother would tell me to target. Find yourself a man of influence, Fainne. A woman can do wonders with such a man as her tool. The very idea terrified me. It made my stomach churn and my skin turn to goose bumps.

One by one, the partners of the alliance made their farewells and left Sevenwaters under armed escort. For their own protection, was the explanation given, as Sean's men in their forest-colored garb rode off at front and rear, with the visitors close-guarded between. How could you work side by side, planning some sort of major campaign, I asked Muirrin, if there was such a lack of trust between you? Might not your ally turn and stab you in the back?

"Oh, it's not just that," said Muirrin. "It's the forest. The forest knows its own. Others cannot go in and out in safety. Paths change. Roots grow over the track. Voices lead people astray, and mists rise." She spoke as if of everyday matters, and I felt the hairs on the back of my neck prickle.

"Voices?" I echoed.

"Not everyone hears them," she told me. "But the forest is very old. Entrusted to our family in ancient times. We are its guardians.

We are by no means its only dwellers."

I nodded. "I've heard the tale," I said cautiously. "Didn't one of your—our—ancestors wed a woman of the Fomhoire?"

"That's what they say. And from her came the secret of the Islands. They are tied up together: the Islands, the forest, the trust

the Fair Folk laid on us, long ago. If one part fails, all fails. You may know of this already."

"A little. I'd like to learn more."

"You'd best ask Conor. He tells the tale better than anyone."

But I was avoiding Conor. Still he remained at Sevenwaters, but

he had made no effort to seek me out, instead spending much of his time in conference with Sean, or talking with Muirrin, or seated silently in the garden gazing out toward the forest. I had the impression he was waiting.

My mind was on other things. Uncle Sean had decreed I must learn to ride properly, since one never knew when one might need to do so at short notice. It was a humiliating experience. The horses didn't trust me. And everyone could ride, even Eilis who was barely five years old. All very well for her, I thought crossly, watching her canter around the yard on her little black pony. She'd been brought up to it. I was almost tempted to make the pony shy and throw her off. A long time ago, in another world, Darragh had offered to teach me to ride and I had refused. Now I regretted it bitterly. Aoife would not have trembled and edged away from me. Darragh would have been patient. He might have made a joke of it, but he would never have laughed at me the way Eilis did. Not that the stable lads weren't eager to help, but that had more to do with the way I smiled at them than any natural kindness. Since my arrival at Sevenwaters I had not once gone forth among folk without clothing myself in that magical garb of beauty and sweetness the Glamour allowed. No wonder folk said I looked like my mother. Without the guise of the Glamour, I would be paralyzed by my own awkwardness. But here in the stable-yard I was tempted to shrug it off and show them just what a plain, shy thing I really was. I could have used a trick or two to put them in their place. But I resisted the urge and just got on with things. By the end of the morning I was tired and frustrated, and my teachers were scratching their heads in puzzlement.

"The horses just don't take to you," remarked one of the stable hands. "Never seen anything like it." Beside him, the mare I had been riding rolled her eyes and shivered.

"Never mind," I said. "Thank you for your time."

"It's an honor, my lady," the lad said, blushing furiously. Then I fled. I was supposed to be taking Eilis and Maeve back to the house to get cleaned up and start on some needlework. But suddenly that was more than I could face, and I slipped quietly away behind the stables, desperate for a few moments alone. There was a place where you could sit in peace, a back door with three steps coming down. Just a little respite with no unwanted company, that was all I needed.

But there was company. On the steps sat Eamonn, dressed for riding, booted legs stretched out before him, arms folded, his eyes fixed on the middle distance and his expression shadowed, as if deep in thought. He wore a dark green tunic over his riding clothes.

"Oh," I said, taken aback. "Oh-I'm sorry . . ."

He rose to his feet. "Fainne, I think I have preempted your place of refuge. In any case, I should go. I'm returning home today. I have many matters to attend to."

Frozen with shyness, Glamour or no Glamour, I could not think what to say to him or how to act. Automatically, I spoke in the soft, breathless sort of voice my grandmother would have recommended for such a situation, and I moved as she had taught me, for I could not think what else to do.

"Please—stay if you wish. I did not intend to disturb you. You're right, this is a place to flee to when things—when things become difficult. But—I don't mind sharing it. You, too, desire peace and quiet? A spell away from the hubbub of affairs? You seem a very busy man." I moved forward hesitantly, and felt myself blushing delicately, with no need for the craft.

"Please," he said. "Sit down. You have been riding, have you not? You'll be tired."

"I am somewhat weary," I said with a rueful smile, and seated myself gracefully on the top step. He stood by me, his expression guarded as always.

"You've never learned to ride? That's unusual for a girl of your age," observed Eamonn.

"I know," I said with complete honesty. "And indeed I have no

wish to learn, but Uncle Sean says I must. I would prefer to spend my time on other pursuits."

"Other pursuits?"

He seemed to want to talk to me. Perhaps Grandmother's advice on how to deal with men was sounder than I had thought. I was not sure what his preferred answer to this question might be. I made a

guess.

"Sewing, reading, studying. I am not accustomed to so many

folk."

He gave a nod of approval. It seemed I had judged him well

enough.

"You have not, then, grown up in a family such as my sister's? Were you raised in your father's household?"

It was a mistake ever to underestimate such a man. I felt the blush deepen, and lowered my eyes. "I—excuse me, this distresses me. You would need to ask my uncle Sean. I find it painful to speak

of this."

Eamonn squatted down beside me, clearly concerned. But I had not missed the searching expression in his dark eyes.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I've upset you. I had no intention—" "It's all right." My voice wobbled a little. "I—I don't care to speak of these things. I have led a rather sheltered existence, until I came here. A life of quiet and contemplation."

"For a long time I believed your mother had drowned on my own land, through my own negligence," Eamonn said. "I learned eventually that she had survived and was in a house of prayer. They said she was in fragile health. But—forgive me, but to be blunt, nobody mentioned a daughter."

"I never knew my mother," I said in a whisper. This conversation was unsettling me. I could not understand what he wanted. If he wished to learn secrets that might be of strategic advantage, he could hardly expect to get them from me.

"She was very like you," said Eamonn. "Niamh was much admired as a girl. Indeed, there were never two sisters so unlike." His mouth twisted. His face was quite close to my own.

"You will no doubt be pleased to return home at last," I said.

He stared back at me, silent.