Seer of Sevenwaters (14 page)

“Ah, there it is!” Clodagh said, fishing out a skein of wool and adding it to her basket. “This green is for Spider’s cloak. I’m making each of the men who has helped build our house a new garment fashioned in his choice of pattern and colors.”

I knew without asking that she would have done everything herself: spinning, dyeing, weaving, sewing. A gift of her own hands, as the house was of theirs. Along with her clever fingers, Clodagh had always had a generous heart.

“Spider told me you’d been up to see the house,” she said as we headed out toward the work room. “Aren’t they doing a wonderful job? I love the way people work here. Even the most mundane tasks are carried out with such care. You could almost call it joy.”

It was true. I only had to watch Biddy cooking or Sam polishing a sword or Gull cutting herbs in the garden to know it. “It’s odd,” I said. “I mean, this place is a training ground for warriors. It prepares men to deliver hurt and death. And yet people do their work as a druid does, in an awareness of wonder. With a knowledge that the breath of the gods flows through their bodies and quickens their blood.”

“Johnny doesn’t keep this place going in order to whip up conflict, Sibeal,” Clodagh said. “He provides training so that, when they have to fight, people know how to do it properly. There are men here who haven’t much to offer the world except their combat skills. Men who, if they did not have a home and a role on the island, would have nowhere to go and nothing to live for.”

I considered the small number of islanders who remained from the original outlaw band. Gull, Spider, Rat, the absent Snake. A handful of others. “It won’t always be that way,” I said.

“No, Sibeal. And Johnny won’t always be here to lead them. When Father dies, he’ll be chieftain of Sevenwaters, and will have to give this up. I believe the community will keep going. Someone else will become leader. You say it’s odd that the people here live their lives in the knowledge of goodness, with the purpose of the island being warcraft. But Erin was founded on war. Men will always fight; it’s in their nature. They may as well be properly prepared for it.”

My mind had wandered down a different track. “Would Cathal become leader here when Johnny moves on?” I asked.

A long pause. Clodagh rubbed at an invisible speck on her sleeve, not looking at me. “You know me, Sibeal,” she said eventually, her tone constrained. “I’m an ordinary woman with no visionary abilities at all. But I feel in my bones that we’ll be gone from here before that time. My instincts tell me Cathal will be caught up in momentous events whether he wants it or not. I hope I’m wrong. I would be perfectly happy to stay on Inis Eala.” After a moment she added, “I do miss the family. I wish I could see Eilis and Finbar and our parents sometimes. And I’d love to visit Deirdre. I can’t believe my own twin has two children and I’ve never even seen them. But I’ve made my choice, and I wouldn’t change that.”

As we walked across the yard, the men were heading over to their practice area, a circular enclosure surrounded by a double stone wall higher than a tall man. Clodagh led me with confidence against the flow of warriors—they stepped courteously aside to let us pass—and into the long thatched building, where two little girls were busily carding wool while women plied distaff and spindle or worked at looms. A basket by one woman’s side contained a sleeping baby. A fire crackled on a hearth, warming the room so fingers would not be too stiff for delicate crafts. Morning sun streamed in through the open shutters, bathing the orderly scene in light.

Clodagh admired one woman’s weaving and another’s embroidery, then fetched her distaff and spindle and a basket of carded wool, and started spinning a fine, even thread. I found some plain mending to do—our mother had made sure we were all competent in such skills—and settled beside her. The women had plenty to talk about. I found myself answering a flood of questions about what it was like for a girl to be a druid and why I would choose such a life. I answered as well as I could, and in turn heard much about the various paths that had brought these women to the unusual community of Inis Eala.

Alba, whose brother Niall was one of Johnny’s men, had run away from home rather than be wed in payment of a family debt. The debt had been quietly settled; Johnny had a talent for making things happen without undue fuss. Alba had not brought any particular skills with her, other than the ability to play the fiddle and sing, but she had found her place here. “I mend nets and look after children,” she said with a grin. “And I suppose I might make someone a good wife, when I decide whom I like best. Aren’t you sad to miss all that, Sibeal?”

“If she was,” Clodagh said crisply, “I don’t suppose she would have done all those years of preparation to be a druid.”

“It’s a fair question,” I said. “No, I don’t think I will miss what I’ve never had. A druid has a close bond with the gods; closer, I believe, than the bond between a wife and her husband, or between a mother and her child.”

Now it was Clodagh who looked at me askance.

“You don’t agree?” I said.

“I can’t possibly say, Sibeal, never having had a spiritual vocation. And nor can you, never having had a sweetheart or been a mother. It’s hard for me to believe anything is stronger than the bond between parent and child. A mother would do anything to keep her baby safe. Anything.”

I could not argue with her. Although her own child was not yet born, Clodagh had proven her theory already, when she journeyed to the Otherworld to wrest our baby brother from Mac Dara’s clutches, and at the same time returned a child of that uncanny realm to his own mother.

“Maybe some of us are not cut out for motherhood,” I said. “I know the path I’ve chosen is the one I must take. I’ve always known.”

“You’re lucky, then,” said a rosy-cheeked girl named Suanach. “Lucky you were so sure, and lucky you had a choice. Some of us didn’t; at least, not until we came here to the island. Look at Flidais.”

The slender, delicate Flidais had told her story already, and a dark one it was: she had fled an abusive family, and had arrived in the settlement across the water with no more than the clothing on her back. Time had healed her wounds, both those of the body and those of the mind. Now she was wed to the much older Rat, and their daughter was one of the two children busy with the wool.

“Of course,” one of the other women said, “anyone’s path can take a twist and a turn. Even yours, Sibeal. What if you decided to use your talents, not as a druid, but as a scribe or musician? A wandering storyteller?”

I had finished my seam. “It doesn’t feel like my own decision,” I told her. “If the gods call me to follow a certain path, that is the way I must go. Even if my personal inclination draws me elsewhere.”

Suddenly everyone’s attention was on me.

“Not that it does,” I added hastily, feeling an unwelcome blush rise to my cheeks. “I did not come here with the idea of snaring a likely husband. Although I suppose there would be plenty offering in a place like this.”

“Speaking of storytellers and musicians,” said Alba, perhaps seeing my embarrassment, “Johnny has said we can have entertainment after supper tonight, in honor of our visitors’ arrival. No dancing; it’s too soon for that. Still, it should be fun. Sibeal, will you give us a tale? I expect you have a rare talent for it, being a druid. Niall and I will provide the music, with one or two others.”

“Of course,” I said, but my heart sank. The way things were going, I would be spending very little of today in the infirmary.
I’m sorry
, I said in my mind, hoping, foolishly, that somehow he would hear it.

Later in the morning, Brenna came to the door to summon us. The men were ready for an audience. As one, the women downed tools and headed for the combat area.

We entered through an archway set in the double wall. The heavy iron gates that usually barred this access had been swung open to let us in. Between the two walls were various chambers in which weaponry was stored and other specialized activities were carried out, including, I presumed, tuition in the more covert parts of the training offered on the island.

Inside the enclosure a broad area of hard-packed earth was circled by a double row of benches. The place could accommodate anything from a bout of wrestling between two men to a mock battle of twenty against twenty. The warriors of the island maintained their skills even when there were no visitors to be trained. Requests for their services came in frequently—such an expert fighting force could handle a broad range of assignments. Johnny chose their missions carefully; I knew he accepted perhaps one in ten such requests. As a future chieftain of Sevenwaters, he could not afford to make new enemies.

The benches soon filled up.

“Everyone’ll be here,” said Brenna, who was seated on my right. “Or nearly everyone. It’ll be loud when things get going, Sibeal.”

It already seemed loud to me, the level of excitement building as more and more folk came in, the women and children being joined by quite a few of the men.

“Only a handful of the men will be fighting,” said Clodagh, who was on my left. “This is carefully planned, to show the visitors what we can do and what they will be striving for while they’re with us. Of course, most of our men will be helping with the training, once it gets going. I expect Muirrin and Evan will have a few bruises and sprains to deal with; it always happens. How’s your man doing?”

“All right,” I said. “He’s not my man, Clodagh. Just a person who cheated death, with a little help from me.”

“Mm-hm. You have been spending rather a lot of time in the infirmary.”

“Look,” I said, changing the subject, “there’s Svala with Knut and Kalev. I didn’t expect to see her here, with so many people around.”

“She looks as if she’d rather be somewhere else,” observed Brenna.

“She certainly keeps herself to herself,” Clodagh said. “I invited her to join us in the work room any morning. Or at least, I asked Kalev to ask Knut to tell her she’d be welcome. Norse-women are usually skilled embroiderers, so I’ve heard. But Knut said she prefers to be on her own. She seems so sad.”

Svala did not look sad now, simply detached. While Knut moved about greeting one man after another, exchanging smiles and friendly words, she remained standing at the back, not watching her husband or anything in particular. Her hair had been tamed into an untidy plait, over which she wore a linen head cloth. It did little to diminish her beauty, and I saw eyes turning toward her, those of the Connacht men in particular. His greetings over, Knut came back to stand beside her. Kalev said something and the two men laughed.

A sudden hush. A pair of combatants moved onto the fighting area, knives at their belts: fair-haired Jouko and the more solidly built Niall, brother of Alba. The combatants faced Johnny, who was seated with Gareth among the throng, and inclined their heads in a gesture of acknowledgment. A moment later they were circling each other in fighting stance, and the crowd erupted in screams of encouragement and shouts of advice: “Go for his knees, Jouko! Niall, watch your back!” If I had thought the gathering loud before, it was nothing to this.

The bout was intense and serious. Jouko was more agile than Niall; he fought like a dancer. Niall seemed stronger. I thought he might prevail, provided he could pin the northerner down at some point. I thought of animals—Jouko a stag, Niall a boar—as they whirled and struck and dodged from one side of the fighting area to the other and back again. Then, to a gasp from the onlookers, Jouko tripped his opponent with a move that was powerful, economical and entirely unexpected. Niall’s knife went flying as he fell. Seizing his advantage, Jouko was kneeling astride the other man in an instant, his own knife against Niall’s throat.

“Cease!” called Johnny. “Well done.” Jouko slipped the knife back into his belt, rose to his feet and held out a hand to help Niall up. They acknowledged the crowd’s enthusiastic approval with brief nods, then left the field of battle.

Johnny now stood up in his place; heads turned toward him. “Welcome, all.” My cousin did not raise his voice, but the crowd hushed; some men have a natural authority, and Johnny had more than most. “A particular greeting to our contingent from Connacht; you’ve made a long journey to be here. That bout was just a taste of what’s to come. Today we have on show some of our skills, some of our weapons, some of the men who’ll be working with you during your stay. Your chieftain has explained to me what he needs you to learn, and from tomorrow you’ll be divided into groups and allocated one of our men as tutor. You’re here because you’re the best of the best. Our job is to make you even better. Work hard, observe our rules, and you’ll return to Connacht sharpened to precision.

“The rules are simple on Inis Eala. Your tutors will explain them again later, but here’s the gist of it. If you break the codes of behavior we observe here, you’ll not only be sent home straightaway, but so will the rest of your group. We don’t ask any more of you than we ask of our own men and women. The first rule is respect. That goes for all of us, all the time: put it into practice in word and deed, every moment of every day. The second rule is that nobody leaves the island without my permission. Our boats go across to the mainland every few days, and there may be reason for one or two of you to go with them on occasion. Don’t even think of expeditions of your own.

“The third rule is honesty. If you make an error, face up to it, come out with it. The last rule is this: we don’t let the sun set on our anger. Likely there’ll be disputes as we go along. We’re none of us beyond annoyance, jealousy, the feelings that arise when we’re working hard and getting tired and bruised, and something happens to cause offense. Settle your grievances quickly, and if you can’t, bring them to me after supper on the same day and I’ll help you sort things out. If you feel a need to use your fists to resolve a problem, do it properly, out in the open with a third man as arbiter, and once the bout’s done, let that be an end of it.” Johnny looked around as if to include each of the Connacht men in his speech. “You’ll have questions. We’ll make time for them when today’s bouts are over. We’re going to show you some new swords fashioned by our expert smith here. Stand up, Sam, so everyone can see you.”