Child of the Prophecy (79 page)

I scowled in exasperation. "It's not some kind of stupid game! Doesn't everything depend on this? The future of the Islands, the future of Fair Folk and Fomhoire and human folk alike? How can it all hinge on some—some riddle? Why don't you just tell me the answer, curse you?"

There was a little silence.

"A prophecy's a prophecy," observed the rock-being eventually. 'That's just the thing. Unfortunately, it does all depend on you. We'll help you all we can. But we can't tell you. This one's for human folk to settle. That's why the Fair Folk are standing back, even now. Itching to step in and do something, all of them. But they can't. As I said, a prophecy's a prophecy."

It seemed to me there was a crying, a screaming in the air around us, and it was not the voices of gulls, but a terrible sound of rage, a searching, eldritch sound that set my teeth on edge. Where are you? Do not think to thwart me. Act against my will, ana I will destroy you. Last time it had taken from morning to evening, before she came. Today it would be quicker; she could not see me without the amulet, but she knew the end was close. It would not be long.

I began to walk on, and as I neared the top of the rise I observed a little row of feathery bushes which had not been there a moment ago; a round boulder which seemed to have grown in an instant from the plain grassy sweep of the hillside,

"Keep down," the owl-creature whispered. "Keep out of sight until you know it's time. There'll be one chance, and one only." It settled by my side under cover of the bushes; the lichen-crusted rock at my left, with its mouth-like crack, edged in closer, so that I was well concealed.

"What about Fiacha?" I hissed as I craned my neck to see out toward the British fortress. "Has he a part to play in this? He just flew off and left me."

"Oh, yes. That creature has played a part already, and will again, no doubt. He has powerful connections. You speak of him with distaste."

I shivered. "I don't like him. He saved my life, I think, on the flight from Ulster. But I've never cared for him."

"Why not?" The rock-creature's voice was low and soft now.

"Because-"

And suddenly, I was completely lost for words. Suddenly, the last piece of the puzzle slipped into place, and my heart gave a great thud like the tolling of some ancient bell, and my head cleared to the recognition of an unbelievable truth; a solution so simple that it was astonishing I had not thought of it before. My fingers went up to rub at a little place on my shoulder, under my gown; and I thought; perhaps if I had been brave enough to take off the amulet before, perhaps I might have thought of this, and folk would not have suffered and died. Perhaps.

"She doesn't know," I said hesitantly. "My grandmother. I'm sure she doesn't know, or she'd never have sent me here."

"She suspects," said the owl-creature. "Not this, precisely; but she senses your power, and seeks to ensure you use it only for her own ends."

"No wonder she's afraid of me," I said in a whisper. "But—but I have no magic now. No craft at all. It takes a long time to come back after a transformation. Days, even. How can I do anything without that?"

"You'll have to fake it," the rock-being said casually. "These are human folk, easily fooled. We'll help if we can. Pretend. Confound them with surprises. Just until your powers return."

"Use what you can," the owl-creature advised. "Use what exists, as a druid does. The natural magic of sun and moon, wind and water, rock and fire. Tap into that power, and channel it to your own purpose."

"But—" I shrugged with exasperation, while my heart still thumped with the revelation that had come to me; the truth that changed everything. It filled me with dismay and terror; and it filled me with pride and hope. Never mind the terrible things I had done. Never mind the evil path the sorceress had set for me. Never mind my weakness. Today, I would be my father's daughter.

The allies had used their time well. In the brief span since dawn, they had advanced across the island and up to the perimeter of Northwoods' fortress, so that their forces were now deployed all along the outer rim of the ditch below the earthen rampart. So far they had not moved in, for Edwin had a strong contingent of archers posted atop the defenses, under cover, and everyone knew the British skill with the longbow. Instead, they seemed to be waiting for something. Below a central point in the wall, where stone fortifications marked some kind of guard post, the leaders of the Irish waited beyond the ditch. They were all assembled there. In the center stood Sean of Sevenwaters, solemn and pale, his tunic bearing the interlinked tores, world and Otherworld, symbol of the folk of the forest and their mysterious counterparts, whose future today depended on the human kind. There was Eamonn of Glencarnagh, resplendent in green, brushing a stray lock of hair from his brow as he narrowed his eyes to scan the fortifications for signs of movement. His face was shadowed; perhaps his sleep had been visited by ill dreams, dreams in which the smallest of errors denies a man his long-sought prize. Something as little as a father and son who look too much alike, clad all in black and under water. There were the chieftains of the Ui Neill, richly dressed and handsomely armed; and there was a chalk-faced Bran of Harrowfield, with Snake and Gull by him, and those of Johnny's band who had survived the first day. Big, fresh-faced Gareth; intense, handsome Corentin; and Darragh. And, to my surprise, along with these warriors waited the archdruid Conor, upright and grave in his white robe, with the golden torc about his neck; and beside him his brother Finbar, the man with the swan's wing. Nobody was standing too close to him; they viewed him with respect, but such a difference tends to engender fear as well, even in the most hardened of men. And yet Darragh had not feared him, not for an instant. Darragh understood wild creatures; knew them so well it was no wonder folk said he was half one himself. He knew how to turn fear into love, with patience.

Such an assembly was surely the precursor of some major development. They must have issued some sort of challenge: surrender or we storm the fortress; give up or we lay siege and starve you out. Now they awaited a response. Or maybe it was Northwoods who was issuing a challenge, for now atop the earthen wall a small group of Britons appeared, one bearing a white flag, to denote the wish to exchange words without fear of harm. There was a stirring among the men of Erin; a chink of metal, a shuffle of boots.

"My lord of Northwoods wishes to discuss terms," one of the British warriors called out across the ditch, straining his voice against the increasing roar of the wind. He spoke in. the tongue of Erin, strongly accented. The white banner tore at its bindings, threatening to launch itself into the air at any moment. The lad who carried it held tight to the pole. "He has a proposal for you. If Sean of Seven-waters and his chieftains will step forward to the point below the guard tower, he will come forth and lay it before them. This is on understanding of no further attack from either side, until all parties agree that these negotiations are over. My lord offers this in good faith."

I saw Sean glance at Conor, brows raised, and Conor give a little nod. Perhaps they had expected this. Northwoods was driven back inside his last line of defense, and he had no way off the island. What could he do but surrender? But there was doubt on the hard features of the Chief, and in Snake's narrowed eyes, and also on my uncle's solemn face as he bade a man call back in agreement. This was too easy. It was too simple a victory, for all their losses; and what about the prophecy?

Now, among the party of Britons gathered in the guard tower, there appeared a man I already knew as Edwin of Northwoods. Last night, by firelight, he had seemed weary to death, oppressed by terrible choices. Now he was clad in field armor, and over it a russet tunic, and his gray beard was neatly combed, his hair bound back from his face. His expression was calm, his voice steady.

"Lord Sean. You know me, I think. Do your chieftains understand this tongue?"

"My druid will translate for the men." My uncle spoke in the language of the Britons. It was, after all, his father's native tongue. "What do you want, Northwoods? We stand at your very gates here; you are in our grasp. Have you at last seen sense, and come out to bargain for the safety of your men?" There was a touch of impatience in Sean's voice. Conor glanced at him, then rendered his words into Irish, his tone level.

"Indeed." The wind was howling now; Northwoods raised his voice to span the gap of the ditch. "I come to strike an agreement with you, Sevenwaters, but not the one you imagine. I want safety for my men, and for all our household within here. I want a ship, and I think you will give me that, and more besides."

Sean's brows rose. "I cannot imagine on what terms such a bargain might be reached, unless you agree to quit the Islands forthwith, and return with your men to Britain. I'd need an undertaking, signed and sealed, that Northwoods would lay no claim to these shores ever again. I can be magnanimous if I choose. A ship comes even now from Harrowfield, captained by my young nephew Fintan. On this vessel your men can be conveyed home with some dignity at least. But none of you will return to Britain until I have your sworn word that you will never again set foot upon this shore. Those are my terms."

"Harrowfield!" Edwin turned to one side and spat upon the ground. "Harrowfield, whose lord stands even now among your men, a traitor to his own kind? I would not set foot on such a ship if my life depended on it."

"It is your choice," said Sean levelly. "Accept, and retreat in safety. Refuse, and be overrun. You will die, every one, and the islands will be ours once more. It matters little to me which course you choose."

There was a pause.

"I think you may find," Northwoods said carefully, "that it is I who will make the terms here, and you who will choose." He turned to his guards. "Bring him up," he ordered, and looked again at Sean. "I have something of yours here, something you may have thought lost. What will you pay, I wonder, to get it back?"

Then his man mounted the steps to the elevated guard post, pushing before him a captive whose hands were bound behind his back; whose exhausted eyes were nonetheless alive with hope and defiance; whose fair skin bore, unmistakeably, the mark of the raven.

"Sweet Christ!" exclaimed Snake. "He's alive!"

I could feel the great wave of excitement as it swept through the Irish forces, He's alive, the child of the prophecy is alive, with never a touch of reservation. He was back; Johnny was back. They had not lost him after all. That meant they would win; they must win. The prophecy said so.

The Chief's gray eyes were very bright. He was even paler than Johnny, and he now moved to stand by Sean's shoulder, staring up at the bound figure of his son. He, at least, had seen beyond the wild elation to the peril of the moment. Johnny stared back, meeting Bran's gaze, and he gave the smallest of nods. I thought it meant, I'm the leader. Leave this to me.

"You wish to offer us this prisoner in return for a boat and safe passage?" Sean asked. I saw his hand tighten on his sword-hilt, but his voice was steady. "We will grant neither without an assurance that you forfeit this territory, captive or no captive. This is not the way we do business, Northwoods. I thought you knew us better than that."

Edwin folded his arms. "That's a bluff, Lord Sean. I know who this lad is. I know of the prophecy that drives your folk, the foretelling that Sevenwaters can never win this territory back without the child spoken of in ancient lore; the warrior who bears the sign of the raven, offspring of both Erin and Britain. This is your chosen one. Ask your men what it will mean, if I draw my knife across his throat. Ask them about their will to win once his lifeblood is spilled here. Without this boy you will never triumph. His death would be the death of your hopes, the end of your dreams."

"His death will be yours, Northwoods!" shouted Bran of Harrowfield, no longer able to keep his silence. He spoke in the British tongue, which was his own. "Do not judge us so hastily. Harm my son, and your fate is sealed. Our long years of truce will be over until I wipe you from the face of the earth, and your own sons with you!"

There was restless shuffling among the men; Conor was ominously silent.

"What's he saying?" someone ventured. "What's the Briton saying?"

Conor cleared his throat.

"Tell us what you want, Northwoods." Sean's voice was heavy. "What is the price you demand for Johnny's freedom?"

"The same price you thought to ask of me, Sevenwaters." The British leader's voice was quieter now; perhaps he sensed a weakening; perhaps he scented victory. "A complete withdrawal of your troops from the Islands, and a signed undertaking that you will never attempt such an invasion again. Relinquishment of all claim to this territory. You will leave one ship behind; you may retain the others to convey your troops and those of your dubious allies away from our shores. I too can be generous. As for my neighbor of Harrowfield, I will make known his act of treachery across Northumbria and beyond. He may find his own territory somewhat less secure than he thought it, from now on."