Child of the Prophecy (59 page)

"She's mine," my aunt said simply. "A gift, and not from Eamonn. And it was certainly not my fault that she was once left behind. That creature's seen a lot, Fainne. Sad things; terrible things. I think it's time we took her home."

We rode through a clearing. It was a bitterly cold morning, the ground crisp with frost, and scarcely a bird astir in the bare branches of the blackthorns before and behind us. This was a terrain where strange piles of stones dotted the hillsides, where one could not tell if their seemingly random heaps were in fact a work of man or of something older, the winter shadows turning rock into goblin or bogle, giant or crouching earth-dragon. The very undergrowth seemed malign, squat dark bushes reaching out long strands in thorny embrace to tear at skirt or stocking. Our pace was brisk; it seemed even the hooded warriors had no desire to linger in these parts longer than they must.

The way narrowed until only one of our escort could be seen, the man in front of us. Someone shouted, and he stopped dead. The two of us drew our horses to a halt behind, and Liadan reached out a reassuring hand toward me.

Ahead of us on the track stood a group of ferocious-looking men armed with knives, clubs and small axes. Their apparent leader, a huge fellow with a patch over one eye and yellowed, rotting teeth stepped forward and pointed his weapon at our guard.

"Down you get," he ordered. "And no funny business. There's six of us and one of you, not counting your lady friends there. Nice and slow. Give me that sword. And the knife. Turn around. Now . . ."

To my astonishment our man did exactly as he was told, without a word of protest. The attackers relieved him of his weapons, and took the reins of his horse as if to lead it away. I stared in growing alarm as the man with the eye-patch sauntered over to us, grinning. My aunt sat quietly, her gaze quite calm. Now they were stripping off our man's hood. Of the rest of our escort there was no sign.

"Well, well, well," sniggered the leader of the group, coming up alongside my little horse. "What have we here?"

I raised my hand, summoning the words of a spell. "No, Fainne," Liadan said softly. "No need for that." Behind the leader, his henchmen had peeled back the warrior's mask to reveal the distinctive markings on his face. Someone swore, and I heard the words "painted man" spoken in a terrified mutter. The

fellow by my side froze, then backed away, his face suddenly chalk-white around the black of the eye-patch. Then there were several small sounds; a whirr, a twang, the thud of an arrow rinding its mark; the man they had disarmed whirled about, felling one of his attackers with a strategically placed kick. Without any sort of struggle whatever, suddenly there were six men lying on the hard ground, groaning or gasping or, more ominously, quite silent. Behind and before, to left and to right, Johnny's men emerged from the cover of rock or tree, stowing small items away in belt or pocket. An arrow was retrieved, messily. A short knife was used, effectively. I shut my eyes.

"Fainne? I'm sorry. Were you frightened?" This masked warrior spoke in Johnny's voice. The man the attackers had disarmed was reclaiming his weapons, replacing his hood as if such encounters were no more unusual than, say, rounding up sheep or slicing a loaf of bread.

"I can look after myself," I snapped, forcing my heart to slow. "It seems an odd way of countering an ambush, that's all. You might have warned us."

"We've our own ways. And that could hardly be called an ambush, far too inept."

"You didn't need to kill them."

"They were fools to attempt what they did, and deserve no better. Besides, not all are dead. Some will carry a tale home; a tale of the Painted Man. This pass will be safe for a while, until they forget and try again. They chose their victim poorly this time. Nobody touches my mother. Travel with her and you're assured of the best protection there is." His voice was steady, his manner assured as always. Had Grandmother not yet worked her spell, then? Could I hope that, for her own reasons, she might choose not to enact this particular piece of cruelty?

We rode on, and I pondered the oddity of it, that the very man my grandmother had bound me to destroy was the one who now ensured this expert force kept me safe from all harm. He carried his own death with him, and guarded it as carefully as the most precious treasure. It was good that he was strong, for if she did go ahead with her little plan, the trial would tax him hard. My grandmother's mastery of such spells was matched only by her complete lack of scruples. She had presided over the thrashing, fluttering death of many a small creature as she demonstrated one charm or another; she had viewed dispassionately my own agony as she punished me with knives of glass in the head, with bizarre swellings of tongue or throat, with cruel alterations of sight or hearing. Did not she watch calmly over her own son's slow, wasting demise? Grandmother would use the craft coolly and effectively against my cousin. I just hoped she would not keep it up for too long.

I had learned to recognize Johnny among our identically masked attendants in their plain garments. He was the shortest of them, in height not so much taller than myself, and his back was as straight as a small child's, his head proud, his shoulders set very square. They changed horses from time to time, but I knew him. As we rode ever northward to the farthest shore of Ulster I watched him, thinking soon, very soon, he would have to halt and dismount, or fall from his horse convulsed with pain. I knew the spell; she had used it on me once. Even the strongest man could not endure it long.

The hills and valleys, the hidden streams and misty woodlands passed us steadily by. Ahead of me my cousin rode on, his carriage as upright as ever, his hand relaxed on the reins. I watched in vain for any sign of illness, but there was nothing. Indeed, by dusk I began to wonder if the child of the prophecy was somehow protected against this charm, perhaps by those powers of the forest that my grandmother so loathed. I felt the heat of the amulet against me and knew that she was close; the small triangle seemed ever more finely tuned to her presence, its burning a clear message that she was watching me, watching Johnny, that she would indeed test us both.

We camped for the night in the shell of an old building, where crumbling stone walls and the remnants of beam and thatch offered a precarious shelter against the winter chill. The men took off their hoods and ate a frugal meal. Johnny seemed a little pale, and I did not see him partake of the food, but his voice was steady; he smiled at the men's jokes, and bid us a courteous good night before retreating to take his turn on watch. There seemed not much amiss with him.

We should reach the coast in another day and a half, Liadan told me as we rode out the next morning. There, a boat would take us across to the island. There was a note in her voice which spoke of anticipated delight; she could not disguise her longing to reach our destination. She did not ask her son if all was well, and nor did I.

I watched my cousin as the track became steep and dangerous. I kept my eyes on him as he led or followed or guided, and still his back was straight and proud, and his horse moved steadily onward. Johnny held his head high as if he were a hero from some old tale. The amulet was burning me. She was watching me, watching him. It came to me suddenly that I had been quite wrong. Not only had she already worked her charm, perhaps days ago, but she tightened it all the time, piercing, stabbing, grinding. It was not the lack of magic that made this malevolent thing invisible, but the sheer fortitude of the man who endured it. I rode along with jaw clenched and brow beaded with sweat; my hands shook as I held the reins. Give in to it, I willed him. Don't be, so strong. The sooner you give- in, the sooner it stops'". Around us the others rode on, quite unaware of the battle being played out in their midst. There were only three who knew anything was amiss: my cousin and I, and the sorceress whom nobody could see.

We made camp again for the night. Johnny retired early. He did not eat. I glimpsed the gray pallor of his face, and noted the way he took care to avoid his mother's scrutiny. In the night I awoke and heard the sound of retching out beyond the rocks, in the shadows, and I heard Liadan stir, but she did not wake. Soon after dawn we rode on, and the men rode by us, silent. The smell in the air was like home, sharp and salt. Gulls passed overhead screaming. I could hear the distant roar of the sea. But there was no enjoyment in these dear familiar things, not in this far place, with the whole length of Erin between me and my father. Not when I would never walk these cliffs with a friend by my side, and sit in the shelter of the stones in a silent companionship of total trust. Such things I would never have again. I did not deserve them; never had. The amulet was hurting me; I would bear its brand on the flesh of my breast. That was nothing beside what my cousin must be enduring. She watched; she was close. I could not help him, even though I knew the charm of reversal, even though I had it at my fingertips. I must not use it.

The land opened up. The sky seemed to lighten and broaden as we moved steadily northward. There were few trees here; those that clung on in this windswept corner of the land nestled into gullies, or clustered in pockets of shelter beneath small hills. Two men rode off at a gallop, no doubt gone ahead to announce our arrival. The others were spread out along the track, still quiet. Our journey would be ended soon. Now, as we came up a rise and the first, distant view of a northern ocean came in sight beyond a pale line of cliffs, I heard her whisper inside my head. Tempting, isn't it? she goaded me. You know how it eats at him; you recognize it. The boy's strong; he's one of those Fomhoire throwbacks, and a, warrior besides, trained to endure. That's his father's doing. I underestimated him; we won't make that mistake next time. And you're nearly there; running out of opportunities. I'll just take this one step further, I think. Close to the point where the body gives up in defeat, close to the moment when the heart flags and fails. . . so, so close . . . you know how it is, Fainne . . .

I did know. Imagine some wild creature feasting on your living body as you lie there aware and helpless before its rapacious appetite. Imagine the pain as it flows into every corner of your body, every fiber of your being. I knew that was how it was for him. I waited, trembling as I watched him. My fingers shook with my effort to hold back the counter-spell; I made myself swallow the words that would free him. And at last there was a reaction. His mount trembled, and halted, and Johnny slid from the saddle to the hard ground of the track. I could hear his breathing; sharp, quick. Still he kept on his feet, where any other man would have been writhing on the ground, screaming and clutching his belly. Behind him my own horse had stopped still, shivering.

I was incapable of speech. Was this enough for Grandmother? Why couldn't Johnny fall, or scream, or give some acknowledgment of defeat, so she would stop it? I knew she could take this no further without risk of killing the man where he stood. What was he, Cu Chulainn reborn, that he could withstand such agony? Another of the men rode back, and a quiet exchange took place. Liadan was well behind us, out of sight.

Now the other man dismounted and stood by the track, holding the reins of both horses. Behind his mask, Johnny was looking at me. He indicated with the smallest jerk of his head that I was to follow, and set off on a side track to the east, where a group of three ancient stones had been placed atop a slight rise. On them grew a crust of gray lichen, and I was reminded of that strange, rock-like creature which had spoken to me once of age-old trusts and future paths. I got down from my horse and left her with the others. Johnny walked, and I followed, and if my steps were unsteady, what with my limping foot and the uneven ground, his were more so. Still he walked, and spoke not a word, but I could hear in his breathing how he forced himself silent when everything in him was screaming pain. I wondered, then, that my grandmother did not simply screw this charm up to its fullest force, and kill the child of the prophecy once and for all. That would be easier, surely, then this cruel game of tests and trials. She had no need of me to quench Sevenwaters' hope of victory. Already Johnny teetered on the brink of death, and without Johnny the battle could not be won. We halted in the shadow of the ancient stones, on the eastward side out of sight of the path where the others waited. My cousin peeled back his mask. I looked at him, and he looked at me, his face ashen, his eyes bright with pain and fierce with determination. There is something here she cannot defeat, I thought. Perhaps it's raw courage, perhaps something more; a magic older and deeper than her own, a power that guards his steps, that guides him toward the destiny foretold for him. Johnny drew a shuddering breath, and at that moment the throbbing heat from the amulet dwindled and died, until it was simply a small triangle of metal on a cord around my neck. She was gone, and the spell still held him.

"I don't think," said Johnny in a voice that was a very thread of pain, "that you understand quite what it is you're dealing with here." His hand, laid against the weathered stone to support him, was white-knuckled.

I drew a deep breath. "What do you mean?" I asked him.

"Tell me," he managed, gasping for control, "how much longer? Not for myself; we are trained to endure. But I don't want my mother worried."