Child of the Prophecy (72 page)

For a little the rain abated, and a faint glow of moonlight entered our narrow shelter.

"There," said Finbar in a whisper. "There. No need to be frightened. You are safe now, and among friends."

"Creature seems to have attached itself to you, my lord," said Godric, grinning. "Funny, I thought a familiar would be a wolf or an eagle, something strong and impressive; not a shivering scrap of a bird like that."

"Druids don't have familiars, stupid," said Waerfrith, digging his friend in the ribs. "That's sorcerers. My lord here is hardly one of those."

Darragh wasn't talking; just watching very closely, with a little frown on his brow.

"I'm no druid," Finbar said calmly. "My brother accompanies Sean of Sevenwaters on this venture; he is the wisest of the ancient kind, and will perform the auguries and prepare the rituals such a great undertaking requires. I am here—I am here because—"

"Because you were called to it," Darragh said quietly. He was still staring at me, and now he stretched out his arm, very slowly so as not to frighten, until his long brown fingers were just by my breast, almost touching but not quite. "Come on, little one," he coaxed. "Come here now, come on. I won't hurt you. You know I'd never do that."

There was something in his voice that soothed me and called to me at the same time. Perhaps it was the same something that had lured the white pony away from her herd; the same thing that had made him the only friend of a lonely little girl at the cove. Back then, I had feared to be seen; and yet, I could not wait to see him, on that magical day of the year when the traveling folk came back to Kerry. I had been awkward and tongue-tied with Dan and Peg and Molly and the fisherfolk; but Darragh had shared my deepest secrets. I had feared touch; but not his touch.

"Come on, Curly," he said softly. "Come on, now."

I took a little step with my neat bird-feet, and another, and

perched cautiously on the fingers he held out to me. Then I felt the warmth of his hand beneath me, holding me safe as he stroked my head with one ringer, and I heard his voice, no more than a whisper. "That's it. That's it, small one."

"Curly?" queried Waerfrith. "What sort of a name is that?"

"It suits her," said Darragh, his voice held very quiet. "See, she's got a little tuft of red feathers on her head, all curling round."

"Her?" Godric raised his brows.

"Undoubtedly, her," Finbar said. "Now, we'd best try to rest, for I understand we have but one day to assemble, and then we shall all be extremely busy for a while. This may not be comfortable, but at least it's dry."

Once before I had slept in Darragh's arms, and wished that I might never wake. Now, as I nestled warm between his cupped hands, so close to his cheek that I could feel his steady breathing ruffling my feathers, I wished something different. This strange night was an unexpected gift, for I had thought our last parting over when he turned away from me, in the darkness on Inis Eala. A gift, then, to be so near, to feel his careful touch and share his innocent sleep. But I wished, oh, how I wished I was a girl again, and the others gone. There was a longing in me that near shattered my small heart, that I could reach out and take him in my arms; that I could give back the same gentleness he bestowed so generously, never thinking of himself. I wished I had a woman's voice, and not a bird's, so that I could whisper in his ear. I would tell him ... I would tell him . . .

We slept; and then it was dawn. A bird sings at dawn, and moves forward into the day, seeking light and warmth, food and water. But I was not a bird, for all the outward appearance. When a sorcerer transforms, he does not become that other; he merely remakes himself in the semblance of it, to deceive folks' eyes. The more successful the transformation, the more one is likely to feel of the essence of the chosen form: the instincts, the changes of balance, sight and hearing. And yet, the best of sorcerers retains at the same time his own full consciousness. A delicate balance. While in the altered form, one cannot use the craft. When I had made myself into a farmer's wife, and confronted the trickster at the horse fair, I had used only the lesser form of the Glamour, and that sparingly, and so I had been able to perform charms and cast spells, to make bird into snake, to release latches, to half-strangle a man. But I could not do that today. All I could do was watch and listen. All I could do was keep out of Fiacha's way, and observe these men, and try to ready myself for what would come tomorrow.

I left the shelter of Darragh's hands, the sweet warmth of his body. Finbar was awake, standing motionless outside the shelter of the rocks, gazing into the paling sky. The storm was over; there was the merest whisper of a westerly breeze. Finbar's expression was strange; the eyes intense and bright. As I alighted on his shoulder I felt the way he paced his breathing, slow and deliberate: a pattern. Thus he calmed his racing heart, his head full of visions, I thought. I could not speak to him, but if I had had a voice, I would have offered words of recognition. I know how hard this was for you, to come here; to face the terror we share. And I salute you for your courage.

"Well, Fainne," said Finbar quietly. "Another morning. The last before our great endeavor begins, if my brother reads the signs and finds them fair. You keep this form skillfully; I trust it serves you well. Today is a day for observation, I think; for looking and learning. In this form you are vulnerable, to the elements, to wild predators, to the carelessness of man himself. Of us all here, there will be but two who recognize what you are. Your young man is sick at heart to see you in this guise, for he knows he cannot keep you safe. There is no place for such a small creature at the heart of a great battle, nor in secret endeavor by sea. As for me, I will watch over you as best I can. We share the same enemy and the same fear, you and I. But I do not know your exact purpose here. You will fly forth, no doubt, and return when you please. Know that I am close by, and will provide what protection I can for you."

I could not reply, and so, as the sky lightened and a flock of gulls passed overhead, plumage glinting in the dawn light, I spread my wings and flew, scarcely knowing where I was going or for what purpose.

Early as it was, men were stirring, emerging from their various places of shelter, gathering in small groups, making a fire, preparing some sort of meal with practiced efficiency. I found a perch among the bare branches of an old apple tree. I was ill concealed, maybe, but

safe for now, and well placed to look and listen. I did not feel the need of food and drink; perhaps I would take neither until I was myself again.

Before us was a bay, not broad and open like the cove of my childhood, but a place of safety and secrecy, with deep water and high, sheltering arms of land on either side. Here the curraghs lay at anchor, here the smaller vessels were drawn up on a pebbly shore. As well as Johnny's fleet there were many other boats, some of skins stretched over a frame, some all of wood, blunt small craft, sturdy and strong. Among them, like stately swans amid a flock of common brown ducks, were three much larger ships, the sleek long lines of them a wondrous sight, plank laid against curving plank in perfect balance, the prows high and graceful, with carven figure of mermaid or princess or horned god of war giving each the semblance of some mystic craft from an ancient tale: the very ship in which some great voyager went forth to find the end of the world; the very vessel in which a legendary warrior sailed out to win his lady and his kingdom. I had never seen such ships before. Each was large enough, I thought, to bear a fighting force of considerable numbers. With a full complement of oarsmen and a favorable wind, each could be employed in lightning attack on slower vessel or on unprepared coastline, to sail in fast and disgorge its cargo of armed men while the helpless inhabitants were still rubbing the sleep from their eyes. I had no doubt these were ships of the Finn-ghaill; vessels of the Norsemen, such as my father had devastated once, long ago, in Kerry.

And yet, there was no panic. Below my tree, the young warriors of Johnny's band ate their breakfast and readied their weapons as if this were a day like any other. There, too, were the older men, Snake and Gull and the Chief himself, talking quietly together with never a glance at the fearsome sight out on the quiet waters of the anchorage. It was as if nobody had seen the threat, save me.

Now there were other men here, and Johnny was greeting them, and I saw that some of them wore the symbol of two tores interlinked: the emblem of Sevenwaters. Others had a different sign, their tunics blazoned with an image in red, a serpent coiled around to devour its own tail. And there were men in green: Eamonn's men. The morning was growing brighter; after the storm, the air seemed clean-washed, the land breathing deep, as if spring were not so far

away. Below the branch where I perched quiet, a traveling man finished his meager breakfast, a meal taken abstractedly as he glanced here and there around the campsite, as if seeking to find something lost. I shifted slightly on my branch; he looked up and frowned. An instant later, Finbar was there by his side, speaking quietly.

"There is a council, I understand; a meeting of these leaders, and a final decision to be made. You must let Fainne do what she will; you cannot alter the course of events here. You cannot protect her from this point on. We must trust, simply, that she has the strength to do what must be done."

"It's not right." Darragh's voice was tight with feeling. I did not like to hear him thus distressed.

"Nonetheless," Finbar said gently, "there is nothing you can do about it. You must leave her be; she will go her own way."

"That's what I'm afraid of," said Darragh.

The council took place under cover and under guard. In the end I did seek Finbar's aid, for I could hardly fly into the long, low building where they met and settle as if by chance on the rafters to hear their secret interchange. I entered the council room on the seer's shoulder, half hidden in the folds of his cloak, half shrouded by his tangle of dark hair. And I saw, straight away, why there had been no shouts of alarm, no hasty setting of arrow to string at the sight of those elegant ships at anchor in the bay. For here at the council table, alongside Sean of Sevenwaters and his uncle Conor, alongside the chieftains of the Ui Neill and the child of the prophecy himself, were several very large men with broad, fair faces and long flaxen hair neat-braided. They wore gold about their necks and in the clasps of their cloaks; gold fine-wrought in the shape of war-hammer or dog's head or rising sun. They were leaders of the Finn-ghaill, the very Viking warlords who had raided and plundered the coastlines of Erin and of Britain alike these long years. Was not this an ungodly alliance? Would a man such as my uncle Sean break bread with such savages, even to ensure victory over his oldest enemy? But then, hadn't my uncle said something about a dispute being settled by marriage between a lord of Tirconnell and a Viking woman? Perhaps, after all, this was not so impossible. I sat quiet, listening and wondering greatly.

This was a select council. Of our own band, only Johnny and his

father were there, and Snake. Sean and Conor represented Sevenwaters.

My uncle was grim-faced and purposeful; Conor glanced once in Finbar's direction, and gave a nod of recognition. The Ui Neill seemed wary; the Norsemen spoke among themselves, and one of Bran's men, a large, dark-bearded fellow named Wolf, appeared from nowhere to address them in their own tongue.

"Wolf will translate for us," the Chief said calmly. "Now, can we begin this? The morning is passing; there is surely little more to be resolved at this stage. Each of us knows his own part in this."

One of the Vikings made a rumbling comment.

"Hakon asks, what of these empty places at table?" Wolf translated. "Are we not yet all assembled here? Decisions made in this council must be agreed by all, or may we not expect a knife in the back?"

Sean frowned. "Eamonn is already here on the island, encamped not far away. He will come. We should wait a little longer; Hakon speaks wisely. As with the rest of us, Eamonn has brought his men over gradually, and by various routes, not to draw undue attention to the magnitude of our endeavor."

Then one of the Norse chieftains clapped his hands, and a lad brought a great drinking horn which was passed around. It occurred to me belatedly that not only were these Vikings some sort of ally in the endeavor, but that this place was theirs, a whole settlement perhaps, on the fringes of Manannan Isle. Someone had struck a very useful bargain here. It was clear I had a great deal to learn about warfare.

There was a stir at the entry and three men came in; men in green. I watched as Eamonn stalked across the room to take his place at the council table. His men settled themselves on his left and his right, as if to separate him from the others. He looked up and across the table, and straight into the steady gray eyes of Bran of Harrowfield.

"Well, well, well," said Eamonn affably, smiling. "It has been a long time: How is your charming wife? A girl of unique talents, I always thought."