Child of the Prophecy (74 page)

My heart lurched at the sound of it. I had been right; she watched me, she tracked me even in my bird-form. Conor had seen a darkness; I knew what that darkness was, and whence it came. My grandmother was part of it, and I was part of it, whether I wished it or not. A terrible fear ran through me, remembering how I had slept last night, sheltered in the warmth of Darragh's hands. I must not go near him again; not from now until it was all over. Nor would I bring her close to Finbar, already so damaged by her cruelty. This day, and the night, I must spend quite alone.

There was not much in the way of trees. Low scrubby bushes, a few leafless apples. There were buildings half-hidden by folds of the

land, or constructed deep, with a great turf-cloaked mound of earth covering them, secure from wind and frost. These offered no hiding place for a small bird to avoid wandering fox or tailless cat or the prying eyes of a chieftain with too much of an interest in solving puzzles. And there was Fiacha. I understood that he was somehow on my side, but still I feared his sharp beak, his clutching claws and his swiftness. Near Fiacha, perhaps I might have been safe from other predators. But my bird-self froze in terror at the glimpse of his dark form as he followed Johnny about the encampment, now before, now behind, keeping pace, keeping watch. I could not bring myself to go near.

I found a spot in the bushes close by the track leading down to the anchorage. It was not a place of concealment; I kept as still as I could, hoping to stay unnoticed. Curse the red crest. The charm I had used to change myself had said nothing of that; some malign power had done it, and made it all too easy for those who knew me to identify me. Even Darragh had known; Darragh who knew nothing of magic.

The day passed; the men went about their business, faces grim with concentration or bright with purpose. There was no fear of death in their eyes. They passed by me on the track and did not look at me. But once, as the warriors in green made their way down to the ships, which lay so gracefully there on the calm water, the chieftain of Sidhe Dubh and Glencarnagh halted on the pathway, and motioned his men to go ahead of him. He stood there with hand shading brow, as if inspecting the fleet, or the clouds, or the wide expanse of sea beyond the bay.

"Well, Fainne," he said under his breath. "A strange meeting indeed. My men would think me crazed, that I hold a conversation with a wild creature. But I cannot let the opportunity pass us by. I imagine you have waited here for just this purpose. I owe you the greatest of debts, my dear. The information you sent me has served me better than you could possibly have imagined. Tonight I have him at last; tomorrow the world is a better place for his demise. Oh, Fainne, what you have done for me is beyond price."

His strange words made me shiver. The look on his face struck a deep fear into me. What information? I had not spied; I had sent him nothing. What could he mean?

"It will be easily explained," he went on. "No finger can be pointed at me. The man was simply too old for such a venture. That is what folk will say in the morning. It will be dark and cold; the distance is long, the task taxing even for a young man at his peak. Better that he had sent another; still, he was ever a fellow who liked to be in the forefront of things. But by then it will be too late." He smiled, and I saw the spark of madness in his dark eyes. I fancied I heard my grandmother's voice. Oh, yes. Play on that.

"It is passing strange to see you in this form," Eamonn said, glancing at me sideways, then back across the water. "And yet, not so strange maybe. Our partnership, I think, will be one of great advantage to us both. This form you have chosen is a vulnerable one, my dear. You must be cautious; I would not wish you to come to any harm. The anticipation of the marriage bed stirs my body even now. There is a whole new world of discovery there. Indeed, there is a new life ahead for the two of us."

I shuffled nervously on the perch, longing for him to go away, not quite prepared to fly off myself, since I had nowhere else to go. His earlier words had unsettled me deeply; I struggled to make sense of them.

Other men appeared behind Eamonn on the path. It might not have bothered Finbar, or Darragh, to be seen talking solemnly to a small gray bird as if she could understand them. But Eamonn was too dignified to be caught in such foolishness.

"Farewell now," he muttered. "Take care, my dear. I want you safe." Then he was away down the track, and the others after him.

He knew, then. He knew of the swim, and the terrible risk that would be taken, tonight, by five men, to ensure the Britons would be crippled before ever the fleet of the allies touched the shore of the Islands. He knew, and planned to strike when the Chief was at his most vulnerable. But how had he learned this secret? Why had he thanked me for this knowledge? I had told him nothing. I had told nobody what I knew; nobody except. . . except my grandmother. I remembered, suddenly, how I had spoken to her of the swim, because it had been necessary to convince her I still followed her orders and worked to her purpose. Somehow she had ensured Eamonn found out; had done it in a way that made him believe the information came from me. It would be easy enough; some sort of unsigned message; a whisper in the darkness, almost like a dream. A safeguard, she'd said. I'll need a safeguard. And when none was forthcoming she had made her own, just in case I did not perform, at the last. She did not trust me; she probably never had.

My heart was beating fast, my body chill. I must warn them. There was little time, the day was passing quickly, and I did not know how soon the small curragh must set sail for the swimmers to reach the British anchorage and return to safety before dawn. I must tell them there was a traitor in their midst who put his own crazy quest for vengeance before the balance of a great campaign. But how? How could I tell them? I was a dove; I had no human speech, and I could not make myself a girl again, not yet. It was tomorrow's battle that would decide the final unfolding of things; and to be there I must remain in this form, so I could fly to follow them, and be strong. Change back, and my uncle Sean would bundle me off home to Erin and safety, no matter what I told him. If that happened I could not do as I must, and prevent the lady Oonagh from performing her dreadful work of destruction. That was my task and mine alone. And in the long term, that mattered more than anything.

How could I warn them? I did not know what Eamonn intended. He could hardly mean to join the group himself. I could imagine what the Chief would have to say about that. What did he plan? Perhaps I could follow, and listen. Still, I would be powerless, for I had neither words to use nor the voice of the mind. And there were only two who knew my identity, save Eamonn himself. Finbar, and Darragh. I could not approach either; I would not draw to either my grandmother's interest, for to do so was to put them at grave risk, and to provide her with powerful weapons against me.

I flew back to the main encampment, itching with frustration that I could not be myself again. I perched in a tree; on a rope suspending a shelter; on a post in the open. Men worked quietly, or rested in preparation for long effort without sleep. Prayers were spoken, of one persuasion or another. Sean sat with Eamonn and the war-leaders of the Ui Neill, and looked at charts. Eamonn's pale features were calm and serious; his eye revealed no light of madness now. He was like any other chieftain who plans a foray with his long-term allies: he looked, in a word, trustworthy.

Johnny was engaged in more active pursuits. I saw him leave the sheltered area with three other men, those who were to swim with him tonight: Sigurd, and Gareth, and Darragh. They slipped away quietly, perhaps for some final rehearsal of the night's risky maneuver. Some time later, I discovered the Chief down at the cove with Snake and Gull by his side, checking the small curragh with the dark sails; in this vessel they had moved to and fro between the islets back at Inis Eala, balancing the craft like some great skillful seabird on the swift ebb and flow of the tide. I flew down through the salt touch of splashing wavelets to alight as neatly as I could on the stern of the curragh; but once I was there, I could think of no way to convey to them any message at all. A dove could not make pictures in the sand, or cast the coelbrens to mark out disaster. A dove could do no more than flutter its wings anxiously, and make small, worried chirrups.

"Bird seems bothered," Snake observed with a half-smile as he adjusted a rope tighter. "Hopping around like some chicken that knows it's next for the pot."

"Came over from Ulster on the boats, that's what I heard," said Gull. "Maybe it's an omen."

"Good luck, I hope," Snake said. "Creature's quite agitated; almost as if it were trying to tell us something. Aren't they normally timid little things?"

"We need no luck, nor any omens." The Chiefs patterned features were solemn, his gray eyes clear and purposeful, his son's eyes. The sunlight shone bright on the fair, unmarked side of his face, and for a moment it could almost have been Johnny standing there. "Skill, and planning, and good preparation will ensure success here, as they have done in all our past ventures. Disregard the bird; perhaps it is lost, blown off course by the west wind. Our own strength will suffice, with no need for auguries and portents."

"Still," said Gull, glancing at me again. But he took it no further, and I could see there was no way for me to tell them what I knew. Then, suddenly, Gareth was coming down the track to the anchorage, his amiable features tense with strain, his face white. The Chief straightened slowly from where he bent to adjust the ropes.

"Well?" he demanded. "What is it?"

"Sigurd's taken sick. The flux; a bad dose of it. Came on all of a sudden. He's not going to be able to swim."

The Chief's hard mouth tightened further. "Gull? Can he be doctored with something? Have you a potion for this?"

"How severe is it?" Gull was leaving his task, ready to hasten up to the encampment, dark features creased in a frown.

"Bad. Purging and retching as if he'd taken poison. You'd have to work a miracle to have him ready in time."

I felt my insides knot with fear. Poison. There were only five swimmers, and one of them was Darragh.

"What about the backup?" the Chief asked quietly. Like the seasoned campaigner he was, he did not panic, but assessed the possibilities swiftly and calmly.

"Mikka? Not up to it, Chief. Slit his hand this morning in a practice bout; hasn't the full use of it yet. He'll do well enough tomorrow in the battle, but he can't do this. Johnny says he won't risk him."

Snake muttered an oath under his breath.

"Have we no men here but invalids?" the Chief asked softly. "Are we undone so easily? I cannot believe this."

"Cormack says he can do it if you'll give him the chance," ventured Gareth with some hesitation. "He hasn't swum the distance before, but he's strong, and he says he can manage it."

"I think not." There was a finality in the Chief's tone that closed off any thought of argument. "I may risk one son in this venture, but not two. Cormack is too young, and untried. He will take his place with pride tomorrow among the men; but he will not be part of this. We must find another, for there must be five, one for each vessel. As it is the venture is risky; with less than five, it becomes simply foolhardy. No man would wish to be discovered there close by the Briton's ships, with a mask over his face and a neat iron spike in his hand. With five, we strike together and retreat together."

Gareth nodded, his blunt features serious. "Johnny's asking, discreetly," he said. "There may be one among the Ui Neill, or among Lord Eamonn's men, who could attempt this."

Bran spat, efficiently, at the side of the path. "One of the Ui Neill, maybe; or the Norsemen," he said. "I'll trust none of the men in green."

That was how it came to pass that five men sailed south into the dusk on their covert mission, and that one of them was an assassin. That was how it came to be that I saw them go, and could not do a thing to stop it. There was indeed a man of the Ui Neill who was a strong swimmer; his fellow warriors backed up his claims, and spoke highly of his strength and endurance. He had fair hair plaited down his back, and an irregularity of build, so that one shoulder was higher than the other. It did not impede him in the water, they said. Johnny tested him in the chill embrace of the sea, out beyond the bay, and pronounced himself satisfied. The Chief was less than happy; still, there was no choice but to accept the fellow. They could not wait for Sigurd to recover. He was reduced to a shivering, sweating wreck, unable to keep so much as a drop of water in his stomach. He would not be ready tomorrow, or the next day, or the day after. And the druid had said the time was now.