Child of the Prophecy (48 page)

There was silence again.

"Tell me then," said Eamonn, putting his goblet down heavily on the table and taking both my hands in his. "Tell me who you really are, and why you came here. For one thing is certain, I will not wed a woman who has no father."

My strategy was fraught with risk, and this was the trickiest part. A man with such a strong sense of propriety would recoil from the truth. I must tell him, and I must keep his interest long enough so he would hear what came after.

"Very well," I said with a hesitancy that was quite natural, "I will tell you the truth. You won't like it. I'll have to extract a promise from you, I think. That you will let me finish. Give me your word."

"Of course," said Eamonn, and his thumb moved slightly against my wrist, as if in the back of his mind the pleasures of the flesh still held him in their grasp, despite his better judgment. If it were so, that gave me an advantage, and I must use it though it sickened me.

"Very well," I said again. "This is difficult for me, you understand? It is like admitting I am—somehow flawed. I am not what you have believed me, Eamonn. I never told you I was raised in a priory, by Christian sisters. I let you believe what you chose, that was all. I grew up with my father in Kerry, just the two of us alone. My father taught me all I know. He was once a druid, but is no more, since he met my mother and took her away. His name was—is—Ciaran, and he is half-brother to Conor of Sevenwaters."

There was a very long silence. Eamonn kept hold of my hands, but now his own were still as if frozen in time.

"What?" he said so quietly I could barely hear. There was deep shock in his eyes.

"My father is the child of Colum of Sevenwaters by his second wife. She took him away when he was very small; but his father brought him home to the forest, and they raised him as a druid. He is a good man, a wise and honorable man. He has been my only family, my guide and mentor, all these years."

"But—but that means—do you understand what it means, Fainne?" Now he released my hands.

"Oh, yes. It means the union between my mother and my father was forbidden. They were too close in blood, for her mother was his half-sister. But they did not know that when they fell in love. Nobody told my father whose son he was, until it was too late."

"But—but your mother, Niamh, she was wed. She was wed to one of the Ui Neill, and she was abducted from my own fortress at Sidhe Dubh. She was taken away by—by—the Dagda guide me! You cannot tell me that Liadan knew of this incestuous passion, and helped her sister flee to the arms of her lover? That Liadan aided this, with the assistance of—this is abhorrent beyond belief! That such a thing might occur in my own home, with my own sister present! Did Sean know of this?"

"He knew of their love for one another. That was why my mother was given to another man, and sent away to Tirconnell. She was very unhappy. Her husband was cruel to her."

"He punished Niamh, perhaps, on finding she had committed an act of base depravity. It seems her judgment was as flawed as her sister's."

I bit back my rage.

"Now you know who I am, Eamonn. This is the truth. You can understand, perhaps, why my kinsfolk were evasive in their answers."

He seemed to have no more to say, but stood glaring into the fire, arms folded. I though maybe he was considering what a lucky escape he had had; thanking the gods that he had not, after all, taken me to bed.

"Enough of that," I said with a lightness quite at odds with my heavy heart. "We have other matters to discuss: your enemy; your vengeance. For it seems to me that is foremost in your mind; so powerful it outweighs your loyalty to your allies and kinsmen."

"It doesn't matter," Eamonn said dismissively. "This is over between us. Return to Sevenwaters if you wish, and take the children. Let all be as before. I have no future, Fainne. If I choose to spend my life pursuing a phantom, what concern is it of yours?"

"None, perhaps," I said quietly. "But I hate to see a good man go to waste. Besides, I said I could help you. I spoke the truth, and I will show you how. It was necessary, first, for me to explain about my father. He was raised as a druid. After he left the wise ones, he delved further into the realm of sorcery. When my mother died, he became my sole companion; and he taught me a great many things, as a master teaches an apprentice. This was what I meant when I spoke of skills."

"This is no longer of interest to me."

"You promised to hear me out."

Eamonn stood there stony-faced. I poured a goblet of wine and put it in his hand, and he drained it. I doubt he was even aware of what he did.

"Imagine a set of scales," I said evenly. "On one side hangs your chance to finish the Painted Man, once and for all. The certainty of vengeance, a knowledge that you hold his life between your fingers. On the other is a young woman; one who, on your own admission, makes your heart beat and your body stir. One who saves herself for you; saves herself fresh and untouched for your wedding night. Maybe she is not the one you love; but she will give you what Liadan never gave. She will give you her youth and bear you fine sons and lovely daughters, she will never so much as glance at another man, she will keep your house bright and your hearth warm, and welcome you with open arms when you return. You will never be bored by her; she will always surprise you anew. There's only one problem. Her pedigree is somewhat flawed. You tell yourself you will not have her. You cast her aside. And so you lose both. The scales unbalance; you lose your future, and at the same time you throw away the chance to destroy your old foe and wipe out the injustices of the past. For to have one, you must take both."

"You speak like a druid. I don't understand you." His curiosity was awakened, despite himself. I had chosen my words with care.

"To defeat this enemy, you need inside information. You need intelligence of where his weakness lies; information on his movements, identifying perhaps a time when he will be alone and unguarded, and at his most vulnerable. The two of you fight side by side next summer. There will be opportunities for you."

"But-"

"Yes, there's a problem. On one hand, an estate in distant Northumbria, in enemy territory, and well guarded. One could scarcely attempt that. On the other, an island fortress, remote and secret, with a network of protection so complete it seems almost Otherworldly in its construction. This man can be found there from time to time. But how can one penetrate such defenses? Not by sending in some warrior trained in the art of spying. This man will always have another, better than your own. No, you need something more. You need a spy who can go quite undetected, who will blend with the surroundings as if she is not there at all. A spy who can travel unseen to the most secret council, the most covert meeting. One who might even uncover the confidences of the bedchamber, if you wished to know them. This I can provide for you."

Now he was staring at me, both shocked and bemused. His cheeks were flushed; maybe it was the wine, but I thought I detected a new excitement there.

"My father taught me some skills that are a little—unusual," I said softly. "I will demonstrate for you. Call in your serving man; ask him to bring food, perhaps, or logs for the fire."

Without further question, Eamonn did as I instructed. The man came in and stood before us, a square-framed, youngish fellow with a hard sort of face and little eyes. My heart was thumping even as I summoned the craft, for I could see the image of that woman using her knife to slit open a fish that was her own daughter. I must make no errors this time. As Eamonn gave his servant quiet instructions, I spoke a spell under my breath, suppressing the temptation to change Eamonn himself into another form while I was at it, maybe a stoat. And as I spoke, the man's form began to alter, his nose to lengthen, his skin to grow darkly hairy, his form to shrink before Eamonn's fascinated, horrified gaze, and there in front of us was a fine black hound, panting a little, tongue hanging out, ears pricked up, tail wagging hopefully:

"Good boy," I said. "Sit."

Eamonn set his wine cup very carefully down on the table.

"Can I believe what I see?" he breathed. "Is not this some trick of the light, that will vanish the instant we move? How did you do this?"

"Here," I said. "He's real. Touch him. Then I'd better change him back, and send him on his way."

Gingerly Eamonn stretched out his hand, and the hound licked his fingers.

"The Dagda save me!" whispered Eamonn. "What are you, a practitioner of the black arts? I've been a fool to listen to you. It was your grandmother who seduced and bewitched Lord Colum, and in doing so destroyed him. This is perilous, Fainne. You frighten me. And yet—" He broke off.

I touched the dog's head and murmured a word, and in a trice the

serving man was back before us, blinking in confusion. A wave of relief ran through me; it had worked, I had done it safely this time.

"Fetch more wine," I told the man kindly enough. "And some wheaten bread, if there is any. Lord Eamonn is hungry." When the man was gone, I said, "I'm no evil witch. My father is a sorcerer. He taught me. But we are not necromancers. We use our craft with wisdom and caution. Can you see how this might be employed to achieve the goal which has thus far eluded you?"

"You'd better tell me, I think. Come, we should sit, and perhaps wait until he comes and goes again. Will he remember nothing?"

"It depends. It depends on how the spell is cast. This man will think he had a slight dizziness, a momentary confusion, no more. Had I left him in his altered form for longer, it might have been different."

"You would—you would send a man, in the form of a creature, to gather information? He could do so, and bring it back to you?" He was eager now, his mind sifting possibilities.

"No, Eamonn. I'll explain it to you. And you will see why the image of the scales is apt. Ah, here is your man with our wine. Thank you." I smiled as the fellow set down a tray with a fresh wine jug and a small loaf of soft bread.

'That's all for tonight." Eamonn could not help staring, as if he expected the man to develop pointed ears or a wagging tail at any moment. "You can go to bed. The others too. Shut the door when you go out, and remind the household not to disturb us."

"Yes, my lord."

The man retreated, and Eamonn stooped to put another log on the fire. The room was dark enough, save for the flickering glow from the hearth, and the candles set here and there. Outside, the wind keened through the winter trees. Here before the fire there was a feeling of conspiracy, of secrets shared under cover of darkness. I took a mouthful of the wine, then set my cup down. Not too much. So far, this had gone my way. I could not afford to grow reckless.

"I'll explain it to you, Eamonn. I cannot turn a man to a dog, or a fly, or a bird, and send him to spy for you. In his creature form, he will not remember your instructions, and he cannot comprehend human speech. I could change you; I could make you a toad or a weasel. But you are the same kind as your servant; you, too, would

lose your human consciousness until I brought you back. So, you see, that would be pointless."

"How, then, can this be done?"

"An ordinary man or woman cannot change thus, and retain the knowledge of both forms, man and beast. To do so is the preserve of a seer. Or of a sorcerer."

"You mean-?"

"I mean that if you want this done, you must trust me to do it for you. For I can change, to owl or salmon or deer, and I can go into my uncle's house, or to the secret halls of Inis Eala, and listen. I can return and bring you the key to this man's destruction. I have the skills, and will do it."

"You really mean this," said Eamonn slowly. "It is true, and not some young girl's wild fantasy."

"My grandmother turned six young men to swans, and came close to destroying the house of Sevenwaters," I said grimly. "Do not believe that I am incapable of such a deed. It is your own resolve that might be questioned. For if this goes ahead, my uncle Sean's campaign is doomed. Aunt Aisling is your sister, after all. Would you see Sevenwaters fail, and the Britons keep the Islands?"

Eamonn gave a bitter smile. "We have the child of the prophecy, don't we? Perhaps it may not fail."

"The son of the very man you seek to destroy? Is not he just such a wretch as his father, the man you think less than human?"

"Oddly enough, the boy is a sound leader, much admired among the alliance. He is strong, skillful, wise beyond his years. I find it unthinkable that that man's son will one day be master of Sevenwaters, that much is true. But a son does not choose his father."