Child of the Prophecy (73 page)

The Chief did not reply. Instead, his gaze swept over Eamonn as if he did not exist. He turned toward Sean and Conor. "Time passes swiftly," he said. "Let us make our decision and move on."

"We are all assembled," said Sean gravely. "At this meeting we confirm our plan of action and renew our pledge to support one another in this alliance. My uncle, the archdruid, will perform the augury, and if the goddess smiles on us, tomorrow's dawn will witness the enactment of our strategy. A great victory must surely follow." He glanced at Johnny. "My nephew leads this campaign. Johnny is heir to Sevenwaters; he is at the same time born to Harrowfield, the British estate of my father. The prophecy which has guided us toward this final encounter names just such a one as the leader ordained to carry us forward to victory. In Johnny is born the child of the prophecy; in him we witness the fulfilment of the old truth. He is the shining light which guides us forward to triumph over Northwoods. The Islands will be ours once more; our enemy banished forever to his home shore, never again to set his heedless foot on our sacred ground."

"I don't question the lad's ability to lead," said one of the men who bore the snake-symbol on his tunic. "But what about his father? Is there not room for doubt when one of our number is a Briton himself, and close neighbor to the very chieftain we oppose? Bran of Harrowfield shares a border with Edwin of Northwoods. Indeed, there is some tie of kinship, I understand. What assurance is afforded that this alliance will hold firm, when we set Briton against Briton?"

"I don't think that will be a problem," put in Eamonn smoothly, before either Sean or the Chief could speak. "It's never been difficult in the past for this man to change his allegiance, or turn against his own kind. Just make sure you've enough silver for an incentive. That's the only language he understands."

There was a difficult little silence. Snake's eyes narrowed to dangerous slits, and his hand moved to his sword hilt. There was a scrape of metal. Wolf made no attempt to translate. Bran, tight-jawed, maintained his control and did not speak. It was Johnny who rose to his feet.

"My lords," he said, "there is no doubt of the strength of this alliance, no question of the loyalty of its partners. My father's role in this is not as battle-leader. He has won for us the support of these fine chieftains, Hakon and Ulf, and the generous loan of their strong vessels. But it is I who lead here, and not Bran of Harrowfield. These men are under my command. Tomorrow my father returns home to Britain; he will not war with Northwoods, save in times of threat to his own borders." I noted he did not mention anything about swim-

ming, and putting holes in boats. It seemed that part was secret even from their own allies. "Now," Johnny continued calmly, "let me set out for you the course of this venture, for each must understand well his part in it. Each part is vital; each part is separate until the end, and must be carried out independently and precisely. Each of you is responsible for his own forces. Without trust, this great venture is doomed to failure."

There were murmurs and rumbles of assent around the table. Eamonn wore a crooked smile; the Chief was impassive.

"If the goddess wills," said Johnny, "the venture commences this very night. At dawn we must be in position to strike . . ."

I watched him as he paced to and fro and gestured in illustration, as his gray eyes shone with hope, lighting the solemn chamber with the flame of his enthusiasm. And I watched the men there, seasoned battle-leaders every one, men far older in years and experience than him who addressed them, men used to their own command, accustomed to making their own decisions. They listened transfixed. Not a muscle stirred; not a whisper was uttered. With the confident flow of his voice and the ardent hope on his face, Johnny held every one of them silent as he set out the bold plan by which they would at last triumph over the old enemy. Indeed, so impressed was I by my cousin's authority and bearing, I lost track of his words for a time, and did not catch every detail. He said nothing at all of the perilous venture planned for tonight. He did not tell them the small boat would sail across after dark, and lower into the icy grip of the sea a very special group of five men including both himself and Bran of Harrowfield. Perhaps his father would not set foot on the islands, perhaps he would not actually be seen with a sword in his hand facing up to Edwin of Northwoods, but he most certainly intended to help sink the five vessels of Northwoods's fleet this very night. I knew that, but it became plain none of these men were to be told. Johnny simply said one boat would go in first, and if all seemed well, a signal would be given: a red flag to advance. Before dawn the three great ships of the Finn-ghaill would be in place, crewed not by Viking warriors but by our own men, the men of Sevenwaters and of Inis Eala, the warriors of the Ui Neill and the forces of Sidhe Dubh and Glencarnagh; the men in green. The sun would come up, and the Britons would rise from their beds unsuspecting. Then, from the direction least expected, from the perilous channel between knife-edged rocks, skirting the great whirlpool which they called the Worm's Mouth, would appear the deadly longships with their cargo of armed warriors. Hakon and Ulf would each take charge of a ship; Gull would control the third. Their skill would guide these craft through waterways hitherto thought impossible. They would go in swiftly, attacking the Britons fiercely before they could mount a defense. I knew, though Johnny did not say it, that for the forces of Northwoods there would be no escape. Their ships would be gone; they must surrender or be annihilated. The men of the Ui Neill would land on Little Island, Johnny said, to subdue the lesser forces there. The rest would go to Greater Island and surround the enemy's encampment. By dusk tomorrow it would be all over.

Johnny's exposition drew to a close, and as one the men rose, and moved from the table, and with gripping of hands and clasping of shoulders, and with fierce grins and fighting words, the strange allies of this venture confirmed their commitment to one another; Viking and Ulsterman, Briton and chieftain of the royal blood of Erin. Conor was leading the way outside; there were still omens to be read, and guidance to be sought beyond the merely human, before the final decision might be made, to go tonight, or wait. It was very early in the season, so early the elements were predictable only in their unpredictability. On the other hand, the sooner the allies moved, the more effective the factor of surprise.

From my vantage point on Finbar's shoulder, I watched as Eamonn strode up to the Chief, hand outstretched in a display of apparent amity.

"Let us seal this agreement, then," he said with a strange little smile, "since it appears you have become respectable, and now deal at council tables and not by stealth, in the darkness."

But Bran only gazed at him a moment, gray eyes cool, patterned features devoid of expression, and then he turned away, as if what he had seen were beneath notice, something of no import whatever. I watched Eamonn's face, and the look there made me tremble. Anger, offense, bitterness I might have expected. But I had not thought I would see gloating triumph in those dark eyes.

Outside this meeting-house there was a flat expanse of sandy ground, neat-raked. Around its perimeter were assembled many men,

warriors all, each in the colors of his leader. Some held banners: the coiled snake which seemed to be the sign of the Ui Neill, the tores of Sevenwaters, the dark tower on a green field which was the emblem of Eamonn of Sidhe Dubh and Glencarnagh. The house of Harrow-field was not represented; the Chief, it was clear, was not officially an ally in this venture, and wished to conceal tonight's mission and his own vital part in it.

Now Conor came forth, birch staff in hand, and began the slow pacing, the solemn words of a ritual of augury. A small plume of pungent smoke rose into the air: herbs of divination were being burned. I left Finbar's shoulder and flew to the roof tree of the low building, a better vantage point. The druid cast the circle; he sought the blessing of the four quarters and expressed the respect of all for the power of the elements, and those deities to whom each pertained. Some of those present were not adherents to the old faith; I had seen crosses worn around necks, and observed a man who seemed to be a tonsured Father among the forces of the Ui Neill. Still, all were quite silent; all watched intently as Conor stepped to the center of the circle he had made, and brought out a little bag of soft kidskin, fastened with a golden cord. He took out the coelbrens, the slender sticks of pale birch wood with their carven Ogham signs, and, with an invocation to the goddess, strewed them before him on the raked earth. All eyes were on him; all but one man's. Eamonn stood to the side, flanked by his green-clad guards. An odd little smile still played on his features; the smugly anticipatory look of a cat which holds the mouse alive but helpless in its claws. The crowd watched Conor as he bent, now, to study the fall of the rods of augury. But Eamonn was looking at me. I shifted uneasily on my perch, wondering how he could possibly know; how he could possibly guess. I reached down with my beak to preen my feathers nervously, stretching out a small wing, folding it back again as I had seen that ragged owl do. I tried to look as any other bird might, going about its business on a fair morning. Eamonn's smile widened in apparent amusement; he gave a little nod of acknowledgment, never taking his eyes off me. I remembered the way he had been at Sevenwaters, always watching, silently observant, as if he were putting together the pieces of a puzzle in order to discover whatever might be to his advantage. I had thought he could not uncover this secret, but it seemed I had underestimated the man yet again.

The silence stretched out as Conor crouched by the scattered rods, unmoving. The augury should have been a simple one, for but a single answer was needed: to go now, or to wait. But the archdruid had turned very pale, and a frown creased his ageless brow. The men began to mutter among themselves. Why didn't the fellow tell what he saw? Did the divination show ill tidings, that he did not stand, and speak?

Conor raised his head and looked at his brother. Finbar's fear was almost palpable to me as he walked slowly across to stand by the druid, a straight, slight figure in his worn robe and tattered cloak, the sweep of snowy feathers by his side plain for all to see in the bright light of this spring morning. There were a few gasps of surprise, a few exclamations, quickly suppressed. I saw one man make the sign of the cross, furtively. Somewhere, a dog barked, and the man with the swan's wing froze momentarily. I felt the trembling terror that ran through him as if it were my own; I, too, was part wild thing until the time should come to change. But Finbar could not change. Be strong, I thought. Be strong, as you once were.

Finbar moved again, squatting down by his brother's side. The two men studied the pattern of the coelbrens closely. Neither spoke. Perhaps there was no need. The silence drew out again, and the assembled warriors began to shuffle in restless unease.

"Tell us." It was Sean of Sevenwaters who broke the silence, speaking calmly from where he waited among his men. "What are the signs? Does the goddess smile on our venture?"

"Come on, man, out with it." The war-leader of the Ui Neill, Christian as he might be, knew well enough that the timing was dependent on this, for those who led the campaign would not proceed unless the signs were favorable.

Conor stood upright, his features grave but calm. It seemed to me his mask of serenity was held in place by a strong effort of will; beneath it, there was some great misgiving. His white robe settled about him, its folds full of shadows even in the morning sunlight.

"I will tell true," he said in a voice which seemed quiet, and yet somehow carried to every corner of that great assembly of men. "The signs are not all good. There is an obscurity here, some darkness that clouds the path of our endeavor, that conceals the full pattern of it. It is as if even the great powers of the Otherworld cannot be certain how this will unfold. And yet, the message of the augury is clear in one respect. We must move now, and not delay. By dawn tomorrow our fleet will touch the shores of the Islands, and before the sun sets the land will run red with the blood of those who dared to set foot on our sacred ground. We will drive them thence, or see them perish under arrow and blade; perish to the last man. This we swear by all that is true."

There was a great roar of approval from the crowd; Conor's words had been carefully chosen, I thought, for just such an effect. The reservation in his augury would be soon forgotten; the men scented victory, and now strained at the leash like hunting dogs. Maybe there was blood and death in it, but what brave young warrior of one and twenty thinks it will be his own? There was a light in their eyes, a spring in their steps as they made their way back to their various encampments, to ready weapons, to make the final adjustment to ship and sail and instruments of war. They did not see the pallor of Conor's features, nor the shadow in his brother Finbar's strange, clear eyes as the two of them stood talking quietly with Sean of Sevenwaters,

and Johnny, and the Chief. They did not notice the grim set of Sean's jaw, nor the fierce, frowning determination on the fair young features of the child of the prophecy. But I did; and I heard my grandmother's voice as I sat there on the roof of the meeting house, a voice long silent, awake again within me as the amulet glowed warm against my breast. Good, Fainne. Good, child. All is inflate. Do not fail me now, so near the end.