Child of the Prophecy (63 page)

"There was a time," the Chief said quietly, "when I swore I would never take this path, the way of family and community, for it has perils all its own. The ties of love are very strong. They bring a pain beyond any suffering of the body; dilemmas unsolvable save by anguish and loss."

"But you took it, all the same. The path."

He nodded. "And I do not regret it. But it is necessary, now, to avoid being paralyzed by fears. My sons speak highly of you, Fainne. They respect you."

I did not reply.

"I rely on Johnny's opinion. He believes you should be here with us."

"But?"

"I cannot disregard Liadan's misgivings. Her visions make her uneasy; she will not tell of them. I understand that, for the Sight does not always show true, and to act on its every message would set one adrift in a sea of terror. But what she sees gives her sleepless nights. I find it hard to believe she might be afraid of you; yet that is how it

seems. So, despite my own opinions, I must make one thing plain. Who tries to hurt my wife, or my sons, is answerable to me."

"Her fears are unfounded." As I spoke, I felt the weight of the amulet heavy around my neck.

"Then why not tell her so?"

"I don't think she'd believe me," I said in a small voice.

It was close to Imbolc, the festival which heralds the first approach of spring, and I had been at Inis Eala long enough to learn folk's names and to gain a little of their trust. I had also discovered Johnny did not make idle threats. One of the young men, still fresh to the island's way of life, had made the mistake of trying to visit a girl by night, uninvited. I did not witness what took place between him and his leader, but I saw him leave the island under guard next day, his face ashen, his eyes betraying his anguish that such a foolish error had cost him his chance to be a part of this. It was the only way, Johnny told me. And there was no risk that such a man might tell of what he had seen. It was part of the training, to learn what fate might be expected if one were stupid enough to reveal secrets. The Painted Man had a long reach.

After that the young men were very quiet for a day or two. Dark, handsome Corentin, who on occasion had brought me ale or spoken to me of life in his native Armorica, now gave me a wide berth. As for laughing Gareth, who was one of Johnny's closest friends, he always abided by the rules. The most he ever did was glance at me shyly from time to time. Now even Gareth was somber. All of them knew such things must wait. Sam and Clem had plans for the autumn; one would wed Brenna, the fletcher, and the other Annie, the young cook. For folk such as these life might be hard at times, but at least it was straightforward.

Aware of the unease in the camp, Johnny proposed a trip to the mainland to collect supplies. While we existed comfortably on fish and mutton and the cabbages, carrots and leeks from the walled garden, we could not grow grains on the island, nor did we run cattle, so it was necessary sometimes to bring in oats or barley, cheeses or butter. And there was a need for more specialized supplies. This time Brenna was going across to check and collect some equipment she had ordered, and so I was allowed to go too, it being more seemly for the two of us to travel together. It was interesting Johnny saw no need for a chaperone, such as Biddy or another of the older women. Deliberate, I thought; thus he shows these young men that, despite what has happened, he trusts them.

The day was clear, the sea choppy. Brenna chattered away happily as the boat went up and down, and I clenched my teeth and kept my eyes on the far shore, and at length the voyage was over, until it should be time to come back again. Johnny's choice of Gareth and Corentin to guard us was perhaps a little unkind. Both were heavily armed. Brenna unfastened the bundle which was waiting for her in the storage hut, and began a close inspection of the contents, muttering to herself. I watched Johnny and Godric and the others as they hefted various parcels and packages onto their shoulders and headed down to the boat. The settlement was busy today, carts of goods having come in but recently; armed men patrolled everywhere. Snake took no risks, and maintained a substantial force on this side of the water. There was no casual sailing across, and no unannounced entry to this fortified place. Brenna was taking her time. I went to sit on a bench outside, enjoying the clear day and wondering if maybe the air was just a little warmer. My thoughts drifted back to the island. Soon I must venture out and find myself a secret place to perfect the exercise of transformation, and sharpen my skills for the task ahead of me. Maybe tomorrow, or the next day.

"Fainne?" I jumped at the sound of Johnny's voice.

"Is it time to go?" I asked, getting up.

"Not quite. The lads'll want a drop of ale first. There's a fellow over yonder says he knows you."

"Fellow? What fellow? It must be a mistake. I know nobody."

Johnny grinned. "I have a feeling you'll know this one. Quite persistent, he was."

A trickle of cold fear went all the way down my spine. I followed my cousin without a word to a place where a couple of old nags were tied up loosely, and empty carts stood in a row. And there, patting the nose of an ugly-looking bay mare, was a lanky sort of fellow with black hair to his shoulders, and a bit of a beard, and a gold ring in one ear.

"Hello, Curly," said Darragh.

My heart gave a thud that was mostly horror and only the smallest part joy. If I could have summoned my wits, I might have told

Johnny the man was a complete stranger, and to send him on his way. But I could not even find my voice; I stood there gaping. And suddenly Johnny was gone, and the hovering Corentin with him. I cursed my cousin's tact.

"You're looking well," said Darragh.

I managed, at last, to speak. "What are you doing here? You shouldn't be here! Where's Aoife?"

There was a pause.

"Sold her, didn't I?" he said.

I couldn't have heard right. Sold her, beautiful Aoife who was so much a part of him she seemed half-human herself? Aoife who was his luck?

"Sold her?" I echoed. "You can't have."

Darragh looked down at the ground. "A man doesn't break an agreement to work, and travel halfway across Erin without some sort of wherewithal, Fainne. That was the bargain. I got my freedom; O'Flaherty got the mare. She'll be well taken care of."

"But why?"

Then there was silence. He looked at me and away again. I thought there was a new sorrow in his eyes, as if even he doubted the wisdom of his choice.

"There's nothing for you here," I said in a fierce whisper, furious with him for coming, and with myself for the feelings which welled within me, feelings a sorcerer's daughter had no time for, not when there were momentous deeds to be done. "You should not have come here. It's dangerous. You must go home, Darragh. Now, straight away."

"Ah," he said casually, but I could see his hand shaking as he stroked the horse's long muzzle with gentle fingers. "I don't think I'll be doing that."

"You must!" I hissed. "You can't be here! It'll ruin everything! You've got to leave at once! I can't do it if you're here—"

"Do what, Curly?"

"Do what I have to do. Please, Darragh, please, if you care anything for me, you'll go now, quickly, before . . . before . . ." Before my grandmother sees you. I could not say it.

"Well, now. It's not so simple."

"Why not?" I glared at him. Darragh looked up and over my

shoulder, and suddenly there they were, four of them, Johnny and Gareth, Godric and Corentin, bristling with weapons and ferocious of aspect. Every one of them wore the mark on his face; every one of them looked ready to kill. In this setting, Darragh was like—he was like a meadow lark among birds of prey, I thought. In quite the wrong place. Surely even he must see that.

"Friend of yours?" inquired Johnny, with a smile which did not reach his eyes.

"I do know the young man a little," I said stiffly. "From long ago."

"Your name?" Johnny's gaze was sharply assessing. I thought his behavior a little odd. Had he not spoken with Darragh already?

"Darragh, son of Dan Walker, from Kerry."

"And what cause would you have to travel to these parts? I'm surprised you got so far."

Darragh glanced at me. "Looking for an old friend, you might call it. Helped a man with a horse, on the road; got a lift."

Johnny made no comment. He simply waited. Behind him Gareth shifted uneasily, and there was a little scrape of metal.

"I heard," said Darragh, "I heard you might be wanting men, in these parts. A campaign. I came to offer my services, if you'll have me."

"What!" I exclaimed in shock before I could stop myself. Johnny's companions made no attempt to conceal their amusement.

"I see," said Johnny politely. "And what skills do you have, which you think we might find useful?"

"Nothing!" I snapped before Darragh could open his mouth to reply. My voice was less than steady. "Nothing at all! This man cannot fight, he does not know how to use a weapon, he's never killed anyone in his life. He would be quite useless to you. I know him; take my word for it."

Johnny looked at me calmly, and back at Darragh. "You heard the lady," he said. "We need warriors here. I think we cannot employ you, unless you have some other skills."

"I can play the pipes," Darragh ventured. "And I've a good hand with the horses. Warriors need horses."

"Not this time," said Johnny. "This venture is by sea. You might find work in the stables, on the landward side, if you proved yourself."

"No." Darragh's voice was raw with feeling. I stared at him in amazement. Couldn't he see how impossible this was; how foolish he

was being? Had he lost all his common sense? "That's not good enough. I want to be over there on the island. I can learn to fight. I'd work hard. You seem a fair sort of fellow. Give me a chance, at least." Johnny looked him up and down. "I don't think so," he said. "Too much of a fine lord, are you, to have a tinker's lad like me in your band? I'm not ashamed to be the son of a traveling man. I'll prove my worth."

"At Inis Eala," said Johnny, who was now regarding Darragh very closely indeed, "we care nothing for a man's father. It is what he himself has to offer that counts. How far have you come?" "From the west. From Ceann na Mara."

"I see. You are persistent. Still, as my cousin here says, you are not a fighter; and a source of music, while desirable, is not one of my major priorities. Are you sure there is nothing more you can do?" Don't say it, Darragh, I willed him. "I can swim," Darragh said. "A bit."

"So I've heard," said Johnny smoothly. "Well, I'll have a think about it. I may be back here before the spring is over. If you're still in these parts, we might talk again." And he turned on his heel and headed off down to the curragh, where Brenna was supervising the stowing of her precious bundle. I followed my cousin blindly, making myself breathe slowly, forcing myself not to look back. It had been cruel, maybe; but it was the right decision. Darragh could not come with us. He must not.

The men had to pull harder on the way back, against an incoming tide, and we made more gradual progress. My mind was troubled, my heart heavy. Foolishly, what seemed to distress me most was that I had not bid my friend goodbye. I could at least have managed a kind word, I thought; the clasp of a hand or a little kiss on the cheek. It would have been better never to have seen him again, than to meet thus and part so soon with no farewell.

The men were rowing hard, their backs to the island. They were still managing a conversation of sorts.

"Pigheaded sort of fellow," observed Corentin. "You'd need to be crazy to try it," Godric grinned. "Against the tide and all."

Johnny wasn't saying much. He was simply gazing back across the sea, the way we had come, with the same carefully calculating look

on his face as I had seen, often, on his father's. I recalled his saying once that he was a sound judge of a man's character, or a woman's. I watched him, and felt myself grow cold with horror as the meaning of the men's words hit me. I twisted around and looked back.