Child of the Prophecy (51 page)

He stared at her, wordless. Then he spat, very deliberately, on theground at her horse's feet. It was shocking; a gesture quite at odds with all I knew of the man, for outwardly at least he was ever bound by what was correct. Liadan said nothing, but turned her horse and rode away with never so much as a glance behind.

It was strange. We made our way eastward through Eamonn's gardens and woods, past his fields and his settlements, and Sean and his three men rode ahead and behind, keeping a lookout, though surely while we remained within the borders of Glencarnagh there could be no danger. It was not until we had traveled beyond the wooded country and out into a terrain wilder, more open, and studded with rocky outcrops, that I became gradually aware of others riding alongside not so far away, a constant unseen presence. My skin prickled. I though of Otherworld creatures, messengers of the Tuatha De Danann maybe, come to follow me and find out my secrets. After a time they became visible, as if it had only now become safe to show themselves. There were six or seven of them, and they did indeed have the appearance of some creatures from an old tale, for they were clad all in gray-brown, blending with the winter landscape, and over their heads they wore close-fitting hoods which concealed their features save for the eyes, nose and mouth; there was no telling these warriors one from another. And warriors they were; all were armed with dagger and sword, and some bore bow or staff, axe or throwing-knife. I was alarmed, but the others continued riding as if the presence of these fearsome creatures was nothing out of the ordinary, and I realized belatedly they must be my aunt Liadan's men. Now they had formed a silent guard all around us, and my uncle, whose role as part of the escort seemed suddenly superfluous, reined back his horse to ride by his sister, who was just ahead of me.

Eilis chose this moment to speak up.

"Next time we go to Uncle Eamonn's, I'm going to ride that big black horse," she announced brightly.

"Fainne," said Deirdre, "are you going to marry Uncle Eamonn? Clodagh said you were."

"I did not!" Clodagh exclaimed. "What I said was, who'd marry Uncle Eamonn if they could have someone like Darragh? You weren't listening."

"I was too!"

"That's enough." Sean did not need to raise his voice to silence them. Deirdre scowled. She did not like to be in the wrong.

"Who's Darragh?" inquired Aunt Liadan casually. No one answered. It appeared the question was intended for me.

"Nobody," I muttered.

Liadan raised her brows as if she found my reply less than adequate. We rode through a narrow way between rock walls; the silent escort was before and behind, their work a seamless demonstration of control, achieved with never a word. I was spared from response, as we must go single file. When we emerged, Clodagh answered the question for me.

"Darragh's a boy in Fainne's stories about the traveling folk. He rides a white pony."

"Her name's Aoife," put in Deirdre. "They came, when we were at Glencarnagh. We never thought they were real, but they came to see Fainne. Uncle Eamonn sent them away."

"He came all the way from—from—" Clodagh faltered.

"Ceann na Mara," I said grimly.

"I gave the pony a carrot." Eilis must have her say.

I could not let this go on any longer. "He's nobody," I said repressively, feeling Sibeal's eyes on me as well as Liadan's. "He's just a boy I know from home, that's all. From Kerry. That old woman, the one who sits in your kitchen, Janis I think her name is, she's some sort of relation. He came to see her."

Sean and Liadan glanced at each other.

"This is the lad who came to Sevenwaters looking for you?" asked Sean. "One of Dan Walker's folk?"

"His son," I said.

"Dan played the pipes at my mother's funeral," Liadan said softly. "That was the loveliest music I heard in my life, and the saddest. He must surely be the best piper in all of Erin, that man."

"Darragh plays better," I said before I could stop myself. My fingers moved up to touch the amulet. I must not speak of him. He was gone. Forgotten. I had to remember that, so there was not the slightest reason for my grandmother to be put in mind of him at all.

"Really?" said Liadan, smiling. "Then he must be a fine musician indeed."

But I made no comment, and we rode on in silence with our strange escort keeping pace like watchful shadows.

It was on the second day that it happened. We had stopped overnight at one of my uncle Sean's outer settlements, and I had shared my sleeping quarters with the girls. This arrangement pleased me. Their incessant chatter could be wearisome, but anything was better than having to endure another of those strange conversations with my aunt, in which she seemed to comprehend so much more than I put into words. Aware that I must go on as I had begun, aware of the implications of what I had promised Eamonn, I had no wish to let Liadan befriend me, or to reveal to her any secrets. Indeed, it was time for me to put aside all friendships, and concentrate on what must be done. I had to remember that. I must be strong; I would be strong, for had not my father himself trained me in self-discipline, and him a very model of control?

We rode along a narrow track overlooking a tree-clothed valley. It had been snowing in the night, and the pines still wore a white dusting on their thickly needled branches. Sean's dogs raced ahead, leaving twin sets of neat tracks. It was a still day, the sky a mass of heavy low cloud. Between that and the encroaching trees, I could not escape the old sense of being trapped, shut in. I rode glumly along, trying to find, somewhere in my thoughts, a clear image of the cove, with the wild gulls soaring in the open sky, and the air full of the smell of salt spray, and the thunder of the ocean on the rocks of the Honeycomb. But all I could see was my father's face, wasted and white, and all I could hear was his struggle for breath as he coughed and retched in his shattered workroom.

Our horses picked their way carefully along the track. It was quite narrow, and for a short stretch the hillside went steeply upward on our right, and plunged sharply downward on our left, where tumbled boulders marked the site of some old landslide. Three of the masked men were in front, and then my uncle, followed by Clodagh and Sibeal. I was next, with the others behind me. Lucky, I thought, that my little horse was such a remarkable creature, for I still had no skills whatever in horsemanship. But this gentle mare knew her way, and could be trusted to carry me safely. I owed her a great deal; I had misused her, exhausted her, and still she bore me willingly. When we got

home I must ensure she had rest, and care, and whatever it was horses liked, carrots maybe.

It was sudden. There was no saying what it was: a bird, or a bat, or something more sinister. It came from nowhere, moving swift as an arrow, swooping down and up again in complete silence, gone almost before I had time to see it. My heart thumped in shock. The mare trembled, and halted. But in front of us, where the shadow had passed, Sibeal's pony shied, lifting its forelegs high, and she was thrown. There was no time to think. I saw her small, cloaked figure flying through the air, down toward the rocky slope on our left. I heard Deirdre's scream from behind me. The craft flowed through me, though I was barely conscious I had summoned it. The long years of practice served me well. Stop. The child hung suddenly in midair, suspended not three handspans above a jagged boulder where her small head would have struck with some violence. Now gently down. I made the necessary adjustments. A little to the right, so she would come to rest on a narrow ledge beside the ungiving rocks. Not too sudden; she would be frightened and might still fall. Now it was over. I was shivering from head to toe and incapable of speech, as if even this limited use of the craft had drained me.

Aunt Liadan's men were good. Almost before Sibeal had time to realize what had happened, two of them had descended the precipitous slope to the place where she lay, and were supporting her small form to ensure she did not tumble down further. With reassuring words they carried her carefully back up to the track. Liadan, white-faced, checked the child quickly for broken bones; Sibeal herself was remarkably composed, a sniff or two, a slight tremble of the lip her only signs of distress. Eilis, on the other hand, was sobbing with fright. As soon as Sibeal was pronounced unhurt, she was put up in front of her father, and our guard led us with quiet efficiency down the hill to a safe place under the pines, where we might pause for a little and recover ourselves. A small fire was made; tea brewed. I busied myself comforting the now-bawling Eilis, for the last thing I wanted was questions asked. I had acted instinctively; I had taken the only course possible. If it happened again, I knew I would do no differently. Yet I still wore my grandmother's amulet; I still trod her path. I sensed a change, in myself or in the talisman I bore. Since the night she had come to me, the night when she had threatened to destroy all I held dear, it seemed I could no longer do her will blindly, without question. Was the amulet's power muted somehow by the cord which now bore it? My heart was chill. Perhaps today's incident had been mere chance. But maybe it was Grandmother's doing, a kind of test. If that were so, there was no doubt I had failed it miserably. I had done the exact opposite of what she would have wanted. Perhaps I would never know. Perhaps, from now on, I would have to watch every fall, every little accident, not knowing.

"You're such a good rider, Eilis," I said quietly, smoothing the child's curls. "When we get home I'll tell your mother how you kept your horse under control, even when that happened, and were as brave as could be." Slowly she grew calmer, and after a while Deirdre brought the two of us tea, and I watched from a distance as Liadan checked Sibeal again, more thoroughly this time, peering into her eyes and asking her questions. The child's pony seemed none the worse for wear; it now stood by the others, cropping the meager winter grass.

"Funny," remarked Deirdre. "When people fall off a horse, they usually just—fall. But Sibeal—she sort of floated, the last bit. I've never seen that before."

"Magic," hiccuped Eilis. "Like in a story."

"She could have died." Deirdre was thinking hard. But before she could reach any conclusions, Liadan was there beside us, and the girls were off to cluster around Sibeal and ply her with more tea and questions.

My aunt sat down by me on a fallen branch. Her expression was unsmiling, almost severe.

"My brother did not see what happened here; but I did, Fainne," she said quietly. "At first I thought I was imagining things. But Sibeal said, Fainne saved me."

I did not reply.

"You do not know, perhaps, that your father saved my life once, through the use of the druidic arts. You did a fine thing today, Fainne. Ciaran would be proud of you. So quick; so subtle."

Misery settled on me; I might have wept, if I could.

"You seem sad," said Liadan. "Do you miss him terribly?"

Despite myself, I nodded.

"Mmm," she said. "It's a long way from Kerry. I've wondered why Ciaran did not come with you, for you are overyoung to make such a journey on your own. Conor would have welcomed him. I'm sure he welcomed you. Such talent would doubtless have my uncle busy trying to recruit you to the brotherhood. He has never found another with your father's aptitude."

"Don't be foolish!" I snapped, furious with myself for letting feelings get the better of me again. "Our kind cannot aspire to the higher paths of druidry. We are cursed, and can never walk the ways of light."

Liadan lifted her brows. Her eyes were the green of winter leaves in cool sunlight; her face was snow-pale. "It seems to me," she said softly, "that you've just disproved your own theory."

She was wrong, of course. She did not know the other things I had done, terrible things. She did not understand what I must still do.

"You're shaking, Fainne. You have had a bad shock, my dear. Come, give me your hand, let me help you."

"No!" My voice sounded harsh. I would not let her look in my eyes, and read what was in my mind. Perhaps she thought I did not know she was a seer. "I'm quite well, Aunt Liadan," I added more politely. "What I did was—was simply what one does, a small trick, no more. I'm glad I was able to help. It was nothing."

She did not comment, but I sensed her gaze on me, shrewdly appraising. She rode home beside her brother, and they did not speak aloud, but both seemed very serious. I wondered if they spoke of me, mind to mind, in the strange manner of the Fomhoire folk from whom, if my grandmother were to be believed, they had inherited this skill.

Something had altered at Sevenwaters since we had been gone. I could not quite put my finger on it; it was just as if the feeling had lightened, the shadow had passed, and an order and purpose had come back into the place. It was as if, somehow, the family had regained its heart. Aisling hugged her daughters, smiling; Muirrin hovered behind, and there beside her was Maeve, with a big bandage around her head. Her sisters rushed to greet her, all talking at once.