Heir to Sevenwaters (60 page)
Read Heir to Sevenwaters Online
Authors: Juliet Marillier
Tags: #Fiction, #Fantasy, #Historical, #General
Before the ritual I sat with my father in the small council chamber while, upstairs, Mother fed the baby. It was hard to believe that tomorrow I would be gone; that it might be years before I saw my parents again. I would miss Finbar’s growing up. If Deirdre had children, I would be a stranger to them.
“Thank you for agreeing to this, Father,” I said. “It was a lot to ask, I know. I’m sorry I won’t be here to talk to you and to help Mother with everything.”
He nodded, saying nothing. There was a pensive look on his strong features.
“You’re a remarkable father and a remarkable chieftain,” I told him. “The treaty was a great achievement. Considering how worried you were about Finbar, the way you managed everything so calmly showed great strength. What about Eoin of Lough Gall? Anyone who can make that man smile and crack a joke must possess exceptional skills at the council table.”
“You still have faith in me, Clodagh. Yet I treated you so unfairly. I was cruel to you. I cannot forgive myself that.”
I put my arm around his shoulders. “We are family, Father. We love each other. Besides, it was Mac Dara’s fault that you saw Becan as nothing but a bundle of sticks. Father, if anything goes wrong here, if Cathal’s father causes strife again, you must send us a message straightaway. And tell Ciarán. I don’t think the Lord of the Oak will continue to plague you once we are beyond his reach, but he’s a trickster by nature. It could happen. I said nothing to Mother of this, but I am afraid for you.”
He nodded soberly. “If I am the fine chieftain you think me to be, Daughter, I suppose I can deal with both worldly and otherworldly threats. I will be watchful. Now let us venture out, shall we? I hope this young man is as deserving as you believe. His pedigree is . . . unusual. I have been impressed by his demeanor over these last days, but I did not think to have to make such a decision so quickly.”
“It’s the right choice, Father; the only choice. I’m as sure of it as I am that the sun rises in the morning. And although I’m sad to be leaving Sevenwaters, I’m happy too—happier than I’ve ever been in my life.”
“Then it is the right choice, Clodagh. May the gods walk with you, my dear, wherever your new path takes you.”
On the lake shore beside a graceful birch tree Cathal and I were hand-fasted, and I saw in my dear one’s eyes that he thought me the most precious thing in all his world, and that his love was steadfast and true. What was between us would endure forever, or as close to forever as a human life could stretch. Cathal would outlive me, perhaps by many years; such was his blood. Today, with my heart full of joy, I would not think of that. I would not consider the uninvited guest, the invisible presence looking on as his son wed a human woman who had proved to be just a little more resourceful than the prince of the Otherworld had anticipated. A father should be pleased to see that look of contentment on his son’s face. But Mac Dara would not be pleased. He would be plotting and scheming still, determined to have his way.
When the ritual was concluded Cathal and I did not go straight indoors, but walked together to the place where Aidan had been laid to rest. Not alone; we would seldom be without a presence of guards now until we reached Inis Eala. Mac Dara’s appearance in the private garden of my family home had furnished a powerful warning. So we were accompanied by both Gareth and Johnny, the two of them well armed, and also by Ciarán, whose weapons were less visible but almost certainly more powerful. Where the Lord of the Oak was concerned we needed protection beyond the capacity of a pair of elite warriors, be they Inis Eala men or no.
When we reached Aidan’s grave, which lay in a clearing among birches, our three guardians stationed themselves well back while Cathal and I went to stand by the slight mound under which our friend lay. The earth was still bare, but grass was beginning to creep over it. By summer’s end Aidan’s resting place would be blanketed in green. Birds sang a fine song in the trees around us; it was more lively dance than lament. For Aidan it seemed appropriate.
I held Cathal’s hand. After the elation of the ceremony, his mood had changed entirely. The lost look was back on his face. We had intended to offer prayers; to speak words of recognition and farewell, since tomorrow morning we would be gone from Sevenwaters. But we stood silent, the two of us. In the loveliness of the spring day, with the birch trunks gleaming straight and pale in the sunlight and a gentle breeze stirring the silver-green leaves, with the birdsong and the rustle of the forest and the great silence behind it, the death of a man so young and vital set a heaviness in our hearts.
“I do not know what to say,” murmured Cathal. “I know no prayers; nor would any be enough. Yet I owe him something. He was my friend.”
“Talk to him as if he were right there beside you,” I said. “Wherever he is journeying now, Aidan will hear you, I’m sure of it.”
Cathal cleared his throat; brushed a hand across his cheek. “You used to tell me I had a loose tongue,” he said quietly. “My readiness to jest and mock often drove you to distraction. ‘If you cannot choose your words more wisely,’ you would say, ‘then for pity’s sake keep silent.’ ” His mouth twisted. “And now here I am, and although my heart is full, I have no words at all.”
There was a pause; he wiped away more tears, but they were in his voice when he spoke again. “Any wrong you did me in life, I forgive you now. I do not know if you can forgive me, for I repaid your kindness poorly. You were slain in your prime for one reason only: that you were brave enough to be my friend.” He bowed his head.
“You’re doing well,” I murmured.
He looked up, eyes streaming now. “We had good times together,” he said simply. “In the bad times, we stood by each other. Farewell, my brother.” He knelt and laid his palm against the bare soil a moment, then stood in silence.
“Farewell, Aidan,” I said as the birdsong swelled into a jubilant chorus of recognition. “You were a fine man. You lived your life well. Go safely on your new journey.”
Spending my wedding night under my parents’ roof might once have seemed an awkward prospect to me, but Cathal and I cared nothing for that, only for the precious gift of time alone together and the astonishing maelstrom of feelings that had built and built between us. It was a night of sweet tenderness and explosive passion, of brief pain and long pleasure, of tears and of laughter. Laughter was good; it had been scarce enough of recent times. We did not sleep much, but that did not matter; there would be little opportunity for intimacy on the journey north, with our escort close at hand and the need to reach our destination safely driving us fast. With that in mind, we made energetic use of the time we had. Before dawn we rested, entwined in each other’s arms, a sheen of sweat on our skin and a blissful weariness in our bodies, and felt the beating of our two hearts, as closely attuned as verse and melody, drum and dancing feet. With the rising of the sun we stirred, and woke, and readied ourselves to face the new day.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Juliet Marillier
was born in Dunedin, New Zealand, a town with strong Scottish roots. She graduated from the University of Otago with degrees in languages and music, and has had a varied career that includes teaching and performing music as well as working in government agencies.
Juliet now lives in a hundred-year-old cottage near the river in Perth, Western Australia, where she writes full-time. She is a member of the druid order OBOD. Juliet shares her home with two dogs and a cat.
Juliet’s historical fantasy novels are published internationally and have won a number of awards. Visit her Web site at
www.julietmarillier.com
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