Child of the Prophecy (84 page)

'The Watcher in the Needle?" Sean's voice was harsh with shock; bitter with disappointment. "He must live there, in the cell under the rowans, alone? Johnny is the heir to Sevenwaters; he is a war-leader, future guardian of the tuath, he is vital to our people's security and well-being. Are you telling us that after all this, the slaughter, the loss, still the true battle is not won? That unless Johnny makes this sacrifice, the prophecy cannot be fulfilled and the balance restored?"

There was a silence. Then Conor put his hands over his face, and bowed his head.

"All is lost," he said. "For the boy cannot do this; all of us know it. Johnny is a warrior; his heart beats to the rhythm of the sword, and not to the slow unfolding of the lore. His mother cut off this path for him, long years ago, when she chose to take him away from the forest. He is no scholar, no mystic; in such a place he would last no longer than the turning of the year, from Samhain to Samhain, before he grew crazed with it. Johnny cannot do this; and if this is the truth of it, then all has been for nothing."

"Wise words, brother," said Ciaran gravely. "The boy must return to Sevenwaters and in time take up his rightful place in the scheme of things. He will be guardian of forest and folk, and will in his turn perform the task nobly, as his uncle does now."

"Ah!" the lady Oonagh said sharply, still struggling to free herself from the spell in which I had trapped her. "So you agree with me. You see, I was right all along. The Fair Folk are finished."

"I cannot believe it, and yet I must," said Conor in a voice heavy with defeat.

"Not so," said my father. "A prophecy is never simple. It has as many twists and turns as the lore itself. Like a puzzle, it may have more than one solution."

There was a small disturbance in the air beside me; a ruffling of feathers. And on my other side, a creaking sound, a slight rolling of pebbles. Suddenly, I was flanked by the Fomhoire. A general rustling, a snuffling and twittering told me there were more behind me.

"Ahem," said the owl-creature. Around the circle, the men stood completely silent, staring; such entertainment had not been seen for many a long year, and so strange was it that they had almost forgotten their fear. "You overlooked us, I think. Again. But no matter. Come on, Fainne. Time to tell the truth. Time to tell them what a good idea it is to keep a little in reserve, so to speak, just in case things don't work out the way you plan them. The Fair Folk don't understand that, but we've been here a long time, oh, so very long. We know the value of a backup."

"Uncle," I said, choking back the tears which still seemed to be rolling down my cheeks, blinking so I could focus on Conor's weary face as I moved to stand before him. "All is not lost. Johnny cannot go to the Needle and fulfill the prophecy; but I can."

"You?" It was Sean who spoke, frowning at me ferociously. Clearly, he was still far from sure which side I was on.

"It is true," said my father, coming up beside me. His voice was deep and resonant. "There was a pattern, set by the Fair Folk. Liadan changed that. She ensured her child could not play the part intended for him. But the prophecy does not speak of a man, or of warriors and battles. Fainne, you had better explain this to your uncle."

I stared at him. "You knew," I breathed, torn between astonishment and anger. "You knew, all the time, and you didn't tell me?"

Ciaran shook his head; a tiny smile curved his severe mouth. "Suspected, that was all; one does not know these things. If I had been certain, maybe I would have told you, daughter. But maybe not. If you had known, your journey would have been different; its ending perhaps failure. This way, your errors have strengthened you, your difficulties have prepared you for the long vigil ahead."

"What!" the lady Oonagh spluttered, still held firm in the grip of the spell. "What are you saying, wretch? It cannot be so! The girl bears no mark—she cannot be the one!"

I turned again, so the sorceress could see me quite clearly. "You called my education half-baked," I told her. "One thing my father did teach me was how to solve puzzles; to look for signs. I would have known this sooner, had I thought to study the words of the prophecy more closely. It speaks of a child of Erin and of Britain, who is at the same time neither. My mother, whom you so despised, was a daughter of Sevenwaters, a child of the forest. But her father was Hugh of Harrowfield, a Briton, who by his own choice wed a woman of Erin, and lived his life exiled from his native land. My father is a sorcerer, and he too is a child of Sevenwaters; son, indeed, of Lord Colum, once a strong leader of the folk of the forest until you entrapped him; until your lust for vengeance made him lose his way. The human folk of Sevenwaters fought against you then, and triumphed; and they do again today. I am indeed a child of Erin and of Britain; and yet I am neither, for I am more than that. I carry in my blood the seeds of four races, the heritage of the Fomhoire ancestors, and the strain of the Fair Folk themselves, through you, my grandmother. Are you not yourself descended from the very people you so despise, through a line of outcasts?"

My grandmother's whole body was shaking with fury and disbelief.

"This means nothing!" she spat. "Clever words, tricky arguments, druid's rubbish! You can never fulfill the prophecy! The Fair Folk cannot win! What about the sign of the raven? You pathetic, crippled apology for a girl, how can you claim that? You are no hero; you're as weak and useless as your mother was!"

My fingers touched Riona's butter-yellow hair, her bloodstained skirts. At my feet Finbar was stretched out on the earth, dark hair tangled around his head, features pale and calm. Farther across the circle, Eamonn's body still lay where he had fallen. If not for him, I would have died, and the lady Oonagh would have won this battle. Words no longer seemed to hurt me. All I could feel was an emptiness. My heart was numb. But I knew I would go on, I must go on, or these losses would indeed have been for nothing.

"You're wrong, Grandmother," I said quietly. "Prophecies are a little like the Sight, I think. They show things distorted, or changed subtly, so you need to be good at solving puzzles to understand." I drew aside the neckline of my gown, and my fingers touched the tiny scar that still marked the white skin of my shoulder. "Fiacha pecked me once, when I was a child. A raven has a sharp beak; I still bear the scar of it. Even so arbitrary can the working out of a great mystery prove to be. I do indeed bear the mark of the raven. I am a child of Erin and of Britain. In every respect I am the child of the prophecy, as much as Johnny is. Besides—"

"Besides," said Conor with dawning realization, "you were raised as a druid, whether your father intended it or no. Raised in discipline, in the endurance of hardship and the knowledge of the lore. Raised in a love of solitude and trained in the craft of magic."

"What are you saying?" Sean stared at me, now apparently torn between horrified understanding and a budding hope.

But I was suddenly weary, oh, so weary, and could hardly think how to respond; and before my eyes, my grandmother began to strain anew against the charm, wrenching at its unseen bonds with bony hands, her pointed teeth bared in a terrible rage.

"No!" she hissed. "This cannot be!"

"I think it can," said my father quietly, moving behind me to lay a hand on my shoulder; to lend me his own strength. "I think you will find, Mother, that you made quite an error of judgment in sharing your knowledge with me and then dismissing me as not worthy of your attention. As a druid I too learned to solve puzzles and to respect what is. As a sorcerer I learned to play games, and I always play to win. You settled on my daughter to work your will; and in doing so you have crafted the weapon of your own destruction. In the forge of your cruelty, with your tests of will and endurance, you have yourself created the child of the prophecy, and the instrument of your downfall. I prepared her as well as I could; you sharpened her to perfection."

"Come."

There was a sudden hush, for this was a different voice, and the men fell back in amazement. From each quarter of the circle a wondrous being stepped forth, all taller than any man or woman of mortal lineage, and so dazzling bright it was as if the sun had burst forth anew here on this desolate hillside. They were the folk of the Tuatha De; they had watched and waited until this combat, this debate were over. Now they came forward, faces grave and pale, voices like the shimmer of clear water over pebbles, or the distant thunder of an autumn storm.

"I am Deirdre of the Forest." A woman stepped toward me, long white hand outstretched. Her hair rippled down her back in a curtain of dark silk; her eyes were the deep blue of the sky at dusk, a color echoed in the flowing folds of her cloak. "Time passes. We are ready."

"Come, fire child." It was a man who spoke, if such a wondrous creature could be called a man; his hair was brightest red, a halo of flames that danced and sparked around his head. His eyes, too, sparked; mischievous, dangerous. "Your long work awaits you. Come, now."

"We will convey you there." This being had a voice like the ocean, soft and powerful, a sound like the waves washing into the echoing chambers of the Honeycomb. "The sea will carry you." I could not say how she looked, save that she was a thing of water, transparent yet real, a moving, changing being with fronded hair and wild eyes, and hands and feet fluid as the ebb and flow of the tide in rock pools.

"Not yet!" The fourth being spoke, and all turned to gaze on him. He was little more than a disturbance of the air; the hint of a shimmering robe, the glow, now here, now gone, of a pair of deep, shining eyes, the glitter of hair like strands of tiny jewels, moving on the breeze. "This must be ended now. Move forward!"

It was a command not to be refused; a voice of power. But it was not to me these words were spoken. The spell I had cast broke abruptly, shattered by some higher magic. I felt my father's hands on my shoulders, gripping firmly as the lady Oonagh stepped toward me, a little unsteady on her feet, stretching out her long, predatory fingers.

"I will destroy you!" she shrieked, shaking from head to toe, and the menace in her dark eyes was enough to freeze the strongest will. "I will shred you limb from limb, you little weakling!"

Around her the great lords and ladies of the Tuatha De Danann stood silent and still. My father's hands were strong and warm; in their touch I felt his love. Conor chanted ancient words under his breath. Still the barrier of flame burned, holding back those who might have attempted a foolish intervention with sword or spear.

I felt no fear at all as I watched her coming closer, though the venom in her eyes was real and chilling. I felt nothing but the emptiness inside me and the knowledge of my own power.

"This is for you to do, Fainne," said the Lady of the Forest quietly. "It is meant thus. End the long darkness. Use what you have learned."

And so I looked straight into my grandmother's eyes, which were the very reflection of my own, and I spoke the words of a little spell long ago perfected under her tutelage. I had always been good at this, and now the magic flowed through me as strong and sure as in the days of Kerry, the days before ever I rode away from home, and learned that love is the crudest thing of all. In the moment before she changed, I saw the recognition in her eyes, the knowledge of her own defeat; and the terror.

"Of all the evil that you have done," I whispered, "there is one thing, just one, that I can never forgive. But I will not kill you. You can take your chance, like the rest of us." Then I clicked my fingers, and the fearsome sorceress became a farmyard chicken, clucking and pecking this way and that at my feet, frightened by the crowd. I clicked my fingers again, and a little snake slid and coiled there, shining, dark as ripe mulberries, darting swift now for escape, until I turned it into a scuttling cockroach, glossy black. Somewhere behind me there was a ruffling of feathers, a slight change in the manner of things. I moved my hand and whispered; the cockroach became a plump barn mouse, well fed on last season's hoarded grain. It scampered away, for now there was a great mossy stone there, good cover for a small wild creature. But as the mouse reached it the stone rolled subtly away; and in an instant, a bird swooped down, swift and deadly, to rise again with the squeaking, struggling creature gripped firmly in its beak. The ragged owl landed neatly atop the mossy boulder; it swallowed once, and all that could be seen of the mouse was a frantically thrashing tail protruding from the beak's end. The owl gave another gulp, and the mouse was gone. Not one of us uttered a word.

"Come, Fainne." The Lady of the Forest reached out her pale, smooth hand again, making to lead me away. "It is time." She turned to the men assembled there, to Sean and Conor, to the leaders of Britain and Erin alike. "The girl spoke truth," she said. "Heed her warning, and mine. After tonight, none may remain here in safety. After tonight, no human foot will touch these shores, save this young woman's. Use what ships you may, convey your men hence without delay, and sail to safe harbor. For if you remain on the Islands you perish every one. The prophecy is fulfilled. The quest is over. Go home, and begin your lives anew."