Child of the Prophecy (80 page)

"We cannot accede to such a request." Sean's face was grim as death, his mouth a hard line. "The Islands are ours. We are pledged to recover them. To agree with this proposal would be to make a mockery of our fathers, and their fathers before them, who fell in this cause. I will not do so."

"No?" Northwoods' tone was suddenly savage. "Very well, then." He drew a knife from his belt, and laid it against Johnny's throat. There was a roar of outrage from the warriors assembled around the perimeter of the ditch, and all along the line swords were drawn, and daggers flashed. Here and there, small groups of men surged forward. From behind the rampart came the sound of many small clicks, as arrow was set to bow, and string tightened in readiness.

I half-rose, knowing I must act, still uncertain.

"Now?" I ventured, glancing to the side where the owl-creature had been watching the scene in silence. But instead of its round, quizzical eyes, I met a gaze dark as mulberries in a face as milk-pale as my own, but creviced and old, and crowned with a shock of wild white hair.

"No, Fainne," Grandmother said in a soft small voice that turned my spine to jelly. "Not now. This is much too interesting to be interrupted. Don't you just love it when men quarrel? I'll tell you when to step in. Not until the very last, girl."

I could not stop shivering; she held me transfixed with her gaze as a hunting creature holds its prey, terror preventing flight. After all the panoply, the wind and clouds and baleful voices, in the end she had crept up on me as subtly as a shadow.

"Where's the amulet?" she hissed suddenly. "What have you done with it? You promised me. You promised you would never take it off. You lied to me, Fainne. How can I know you will not betray me now, at the end?" And it seemed to me she grew bigger, and darker, so that she was no longer a crazy old woman, but a great queen, mysterious and powerful. No wonder the Fomhoire had gone to ground, so to speak.

"I will not betray you, Grandmother." I might have no scrap of the craft left in me, but I was still my father's daughter, well disciplined to control. I kept my voice steady, my gaze calm. "I'm afraid the amulet is lost. I was hiding on the cliffs, and it fell into the sea. But I don't need it anymore. You are right here beside me, after all. Will you help me when the time comes?" I even managed a smile, though beneath it I was sick with dread.

"Why would you need help? Ssh, now. They're moving."

Down by the ditch there were developments. Sean and his leaders had formed a tight group, and were conferring. As for the warriors, they were making a lot of noise; the meaning of the British leader's words had spread among them, and they were angry. Along the edge of the ditch, Snake was hastily deploying the fighting men of Inis Eala to prevent any premature forays across, any suicidal acts of heroism. Only a mass onslaught could hope to penetrate such a defense, its upper rim thick with archers. Gareth was out there holding them back, and so was Corentin, and the older men, Wolf and Rat and many more. Up at the southern end, where earthen rampart gave way to sheer cliffs, the ultimate defensive barrier, I thought I saw Darragh, knife in hand, taking his place among them. I turned quickly back to Grandmother.

"Quandary," she said with a little smile. "Sevenwaters can't win, whatever choice he makes. Let the boy be killed, and they must lose; it's in the prophecy. Bargain for his life, and they're bound to retreat. Honor demands it."

"It seems to me," I told her as I watched them debating, as I saw Finbar looking up toward Johnny where he stood swaying slightly in the tower, pale as death, "that whatever is decided, they'll have trouble holding their own men back. Johnny inspires great loyalty. These men will do anything for him."

And, almost as if he had the very same idea, Finbar now stepped up to my uncle Sean and began to speak quietly. A strange hush spread over the crowd; by the time Finbar had finished, they were all silent. Even the wind had died down.

Sean of Sevenwaters squared his shoulders and looked up again at his old enemy.

"We have a counter-proposal," he called.

"You've heard my terms," growled Edwin of Northwoods. "I said nothing of any compromise."

"Hear me, at least," Sean said. "You have told us all hinges on the prophecy. That much is true, for this place is the very heart of our faith; it is no mere anchorage for us, but a symbol of our bond with the earth itself. I cannot expect you to understand that; but I sense you know its significance to these men. Strategically your position is weak indeed, so weak that without this convenient hostage you would have been overrun by nightfall. I think you know that, Lord Edwin. But you are not a fool. You know that if this man is lost, my forces cannot triumph here. Today, they may storm your fortress and slaughter every Briton within it, but it would be no victory. Without the child of the prophecy, without his intervention, this feud cannot be ended."

"So?" Edwin's gaze was sharp; perhaps he guessed what was coming.

"So, ask him. Ask Johnny, who is heir to Sevenwaters and at the same time your own kin, what the decision must be here. Let him determine this. He is our true leader. The men will accept his choice."

And when Conor translated, this time, a cheer of acclamation came from the Irishmen which made the very ground rumble with its power.

"Pack of fools," muttered my grandmother. 'To risk all, on that. The boy's half-dead, from the looks of him. Can't even stand up straight. What sort of choice is it, anyway? He'd hardly choose to have himself killed. Just as well you're here, Fainne, to do this for me, or it might all slip through my grasp once again. And we can't have that, can we?"

"No, Grandmother."

Now Edwin was speaking to his captive, and Johnny was saying something in return. The Briton had little choice in the matter, and I imagined he knew it. He'd just the one bargaining tool, and the best he could hope for was safe passage away, and maybe a chance to return later. Edwin was a seasoned campaigner. Perhaps, in his heart, he knew that once he drew the knife across Johnny's throat they were

all dead men.

Now Johnny took a halting step forward, and looked down at the assembled men. A profound silence fell.

"This cannot be decided in such a way." His voice was steady but faint; it must have taken quite an effort of will to keep it under control. His face was wan with exhaustion. "Men of Sevenwaters, of Glencarnagh and Sidhe Dubh; men of Inis Eala and of Tirconnell. I put it to you that we settle this by single combat. The winner takes the Islands; the loser has safe conduct to his home shore, with an undertaking never to return here. It is time for the killing to end; for the losses to cease. Both sides undertake to accept the outcome and abide by it. If I am slain in this fight, there will be no breaches of the walls here, no indiscriminate slaughter. A clean fight; a clean ending. If I die, you will return to Erin and claim these Islands no more." He turned to Edwin of Northwoods. "I will fight what champion you choose from among your warriors. If he is vanquished, you will take advantage of my uncle's offer, and ferry your men home in the vessel my brother brings from Harrowfield. My father will go with you; he is your neighbor and kinsman, and I believe fought here only because he thought me lost. You will mend your differences with him. Have I your agreement to this proposal?"

Edwin stared at him. "You? Fight against one of my warriors? You've been a whole day in the sea, you're injured, and—" He

stopped short.

Johnny gave a little smile. "Then you have an added advantage,"

he said calmly.

And so it came about that the very fate of the Islands, the very working out of the prophecy itself came down to the simplest of things: the outcome of a fight between two men. The troops of Sevenwaters were excited, elated. They knew Johnny's prowess with the sword; even better, they knew his near-mythical place in the scheme of things, and in their minds, he could not possibly fail. They had not understood Edwin's last words; they had not seen, as I had, the child of the prophecy half-drowned, exhausted, with broken ribs and battered body, sent off to spend a night alone in some stark cell. They thought him more than human; but, blazing with courage and goodness as he was, he was no more than a mortal man, and both weary and injured. I heard Bran arguing fiercely with the others, He cannot fight! Let me fight! Let me do this! and in turn, Conor, and Sean, and Finbar telling him the prophecy must be allowed to run its course; that Johnny's strange decision must in some way be right. It seemed they too believed he would win, against the odds, because it was foretold. All the same, Snake maintained the guard right along the ditch's edge; his own men might be trusted not to break ranks, perhaps, but he'd a sharp eye on the others, and in particular the men in green.

As for my grandmother, she was chuckling to herself and grinning from ear to ear. "Oh, this'll be easy, Fainne, easy. Almost a shame, really, such a fine young fellow, though there'll never be another Colum of Sevenwaters. Still, this one's a sound enough specimen: good shoulders, strong legs. Fainne? Are you listening? What are you looking for, up in the crowd there? Pay attention, girl! You must be ready when I give the word. Know what to do, do you?"

"Yes, Grandmother," I whispered, fists clutched so tight my nails dug into my palms.

"Got the courage for it?"

"Yes, Grandmother." Oh yes, I had the courage all right. It was the craft that was the problem. I could not sense its power in me at all, not yet; I was still so weak I could scarcely keep upright. And I could not test it; the two of us were barely concealed behind low bush and ancient boulder, and I must not let her know how helpless I was. Soon enough I must walk out there and hope, when I spoke the words of a charm, that something would happen.

"Sure?" Grandmother was frowning now, her dark beady eyes piercing as she scrutinized my face.

"Completely sure," I told her, voice rock-steady as I returned her gaze with eyes I knew were the image of her own.

I had thought it folly beyond belief that Johnny would stake all on this, when he was so weakened. But the men trusted Johnny's judgment, and for a while it seemed they were right. I should not have been surprised, maybe, for he was a son of Inis Eala, born and bred to the song of sword and spear. He was good; so good, in fact, that it soon became obvious that without the handicaps of weariness, and bruising, and a broken rib or two, he would have vanquished his opponent quite quickly. The British champion himself was not without strength or skills. It seemed Northwoods, too, could take risks, for the broad-shouldered young fellow who now circled there below me, wary, shifting his sword in his hands, was none other than Edwin's own son, who had stood by his side last night, speaking of knives. The balance of it, the symbolism, gave this combat the resonance of an ancient tale.

The men were gathered in a great circle now. On one side, farthest from the ditch and wall, were the men of Erin, and on the other assembled Northwoods's warriors, for they must be present to protect their champion and see fair play done. The men of Inis Eala still patrolled, wary and watchful, to ensure things did not get out of control. Whatever agreement the leaders had struck, the situation still balanced on a knife-edge, and the smallest lapse of discipline was liable to precipitate a bloodbath. Only yesterday these men had been hewing each other's bodies, and clubbing one another's heads, and screaming the harsh language of war. It was a miracle they stood so close together now, and kept their weapons sheathed. So Johnny's men walked the edges of the crowd, hands on dagger-hilts, eyes narrowed. And in the center of the open space around which the crowd gathered thickly, the two young warriors fought on. They used their heavy swords two-handed, whirling and ducking, the weapons whistling through the air, their own grunts and gasps a counterpoint to this deadly music. No shields; this was a direct and brutal encounter, and could surely not last long. Johnny was tiring. I could see the way he shifted his feet, straggling for balance. I could see a change in his steady gray eyes, as if he sensed death close. If he lost this, he would indeed lose all.

Edwin's son was bleeding from a deep wound to the shoulder and a cut to the thigh. His face was flushed with effort and sheened with sweat. Johnny was deathly pale; I sensed a shadow over him, and steeled myself. There would be a moment soon when he was pinned down, with the other man's weapon at his throat, and I would have to run out in the open and—and—

Edwin's son lunged with his sword, and this time Johnny's balance was not quite perfect. His foot slipped; he teetered for an instant, and his opponent's weapon sliced down his side, tearing through cloth and flesh. Johnny's eyes widened a little; his mouth opened and closed. Edwin's son took a step back; gripped his sword anew; readied himself for a final blow. Johnny stepped neatly forward, and turned on his heel, and his foot came up to strike the other man's weapon from his hand. The heavy sword flew through the air as the crowd gasped with one voice. A moment later, the Briton was sprawled on the ground with Johnny standing over him, the point of his sword a finger's breadth from the other man's throat. Johnny wore black; but I could see how freely the blood flowed from the great gash Edwin's son had laid open, and how my cousin's face grew ever paler as the sun came up above the clouds to light the scene below with eerie brightness.