Shapeshifter (10 page)

“I bring you this news for a reason.” Far leaned forward in his seat, and Derg felt the force of the sorcerer’s will beat against him. Finally, the point of this polite charade.

“If you have any way of contacting Sive, I hope you will tell her there is no reason for her to stay in this self-imposed exile. I have given her up and will trouble her no more.”

Far stood up, all brisk haste. “Well, I have taken up enough of your time and have business of my own to see to. But I do regret deeply the hardship she must have suffered these long seasons, and I hope you will believe me that it is safe to bring her home.”

“I would like nothing better,” said Derg. “Sadly, I have no way to give her this message.”

The sorcerer inclined his head gravely. “I see. Yet perhaps some chance will arise for you. I urge you to search for one.” He flapped one hand to motion Derg, half-risen from his seat, back down. “Sit, sit,” he said genially. “We will let ourselves out.”

Derg sank back into his seat. His man found him there much later, lost in thought, the Solstice games forgotten.

DERG WOKE THAT night to a hand over his mouth, and perhaps the strangest words an assailant ever uttered to his victim: “Please don’t hurt me, sir!”

His eyes flew open. A lamp guttered on the table, enough to make out the sorcerer’s serving boy’s face hovering above him, strained and urgent.

“Please stay quiet, sir. I mean no harm.” The words were a strangled whisper.

Derg nodded, noticed his hands wrapped about the boy’s neck, and slowly removed them.

Oran gasped a quick breath, his thanks coming on the outrush of air.

Derg sat up in his bed and waited while his heart slowed from its gallop and his brain caught up.

“What is this about?”

“Sir, I…I know something that might help your daughter.”

Another trick? Derg considered the scrawny youth. He seemed scared to death, and not of Derg.

“And why would you wish to help my daughter?”

Oran winced and made a quick damping motion with his hands to quiet Derg. “Please, sir, I can’t risk waking your man or anyone else. If my master finds out what I’ve done…” He glanced around the empty room, looking as if he might lose his nerve and take flight, and then visibly pulled himself together.

“Your daughter did me a kindness once,” he said. “Not many do. If I can do the same for her, I will.”

Derg knew that if Far Doirche had ordered Oran to come and present this story, he would be bound to do so. But would a man like Far even think of gratitude as a motivation? Would Oran speak with such feeling if he were under an enchantment? Derg threw out a fishing line.

“Far Doirche already explained to me that he no longer desires Sive and—” He was cut off by Oran’s head shaking nearly off its stem.

“No, sir, you mustn’t believe that! He wants her still. He’s just hoping you’ll bring her back within his grasp!”

Derg nodded grimly. The lad was honest in that regard at least. “Well then?”

“I might know another way,” said Oran. “I heard Sive’s sister Daireann talking and—”

“Daireann?” Derg’s voice was sharp. “What has Daireann to do with this?”

“It’s Daireann my master has been—”

Derg jumped up in anger. “He’s after marrying
Daireann
?”

Oran’s face twisted in distress. “Please, sir, please be quiet. If I’m caught…”

“I’m sorry, boy.” Derg forced himself to sit back down and speak calmly. “It won’t happen again.”

“Well, I think he’s just flattering her, sir, if you understand me, in hopes she will lead him to Sive. He sets me to, well, to spy on her, in case she mentions Sive’s location. And what she said is that if Sive went to stay in Finn mac Cumhail’s dun, she would be safe there.”

“How would Daireann know such a thing?” Derg tried to summon all the lore and news he had heard of this Finn. Some relation to Lugh, wasn’t he? And his dun just over on the Hill of Almhuin, though to hear tell he was rarely at home, traveling as he did all over the country.

“I gather she went wooing him once,” said Oran. “And she cursed him or some such thing when he refused her, and he said if he were in his own dun no curse would touch him, because the hand of Lugh protected it.”

As Derg pondered these words, excitement rose within him, as though Lugh’s own light had kindled deep in his own chest. Lugh, beloved of the sun, could not be harmed by any dark creature or spell. And if Finn did indeed enjoy his favor…He would go to Lugh of the Long Hand and confirm what Daireann said. And if it were true, he would search all of Eire, search until the world’s end, to find his daughter.

“Daireann said Finn would refuse any woman of the Sidhe,” Oran said. “But I do not believe it. How could he refuse Sive, after all she has suffered?”

The boy’s eyes were bright and indignant, his fears forgotten. Derg felt suddenly sure this was no ruse, but a genuine act of courage. He thanked Oran warmly and then said, “Is there any reward I can give you that your master will not discover?”

Oran shook his head doubtfully.

“What if we walk over to the kitchens, and at least get you something to eat on your way back to your room?”

The slightest hesitation, and then a very firm headshake. “I’ve taken too much time already. He is not a deep sleeper.”

Sive Remembers

My father searched for me all winter, flying through every province of Eire, visiting the houses of kings and laborers, seeking word of a strangely spotted doe. And when at last he found me, in one of the lonely hidden valleys of the Mourne Mountains in the north, he was so relieved and so eager to tell me his news that he changed straightway.

And I ran from him. I did not know my own father. I saw only the two legs of a hunter, and bolted.

He had to hop and flutter before my nose, flying onto my back and annoying me in every possible way, before the memory of the magpie who had guarded my path as a child, and with it the memory of the man himself, awakened. It was long then since I had walked on two legs. It was as though my will and mind had frozen with the winter, and I had sunk into my animal skin and let it close over my head. If he had not found me, I might have remained submerged forever.

Once my mind woke up, I managed the change well enough. But time fleeted from us like the most timid deer, and we did not dare talk long. I could tell he worried that I would forget again, that the deer would take me before I could reach Finn’s dun. But I would not forget. I had hope, and a plan, and the raking pain of denying my heart and leaving him. These were my reminders that I was a person, not a beast of the wilds, and I clung to them as I made my way down the coast until I found the river that would lead me to a string of three hills. One, back home, was my own hill of Sidhe Ochta Cleitigh. The middle one was just a hill. And the third was the Hill of Almhuin, winter headquarters of Finn mac Cumhail, head of the mighty Fianna.

TWELVE

S
he was a woman trapped in a deer’s form, of that Finn had no doubt. Had he not seen it before? His own aunt Tuiren had been changed to a hound by a jealous woman of the Sidhe. Or perhaps she was like the puppies Tuiren had whelped at that time, his own Bran and Sceolan. They were born and would remain hounds, but with a human sensibility. Either way, the strange doe must be kept safe.

It would not be easy, he mused, with a deer. Bran and Sceolan were renowned for their prowess on the hunt, leaders of the pack that traveled with the Fianna. No man would think of harming them. But a deer would be in constant peril from men and dogs alike. Would he have to pen her up like a sheep?

His own two would do their best to protect her. What an extraordinary sight that had been. After the long day’s chase he had climbed over that last ridge, wondering why his hounds had fallen silent, to find the little spotted doe nestled down in the bracken and Sceolan pressed snug against her, while Bran frisked about like a giddy pup.

Now Finn shrugged out of his tunic and breeches and slid under the heavy furs. It was cold, for he had put out the fires. Finn loved the early spring, despite the dampness and rain, despite the mud that could make the hunting trails nearly impassable. He loved the smell in the air, the heady sense of a world awakening, the way the lengthening days filled him with eager energy. And…he loved putting out the night fires, sleeping in clean air rather than a haze of peat smoke and waking with clear eyes and easy breath.

A good day, he thought, as he sank into sleep, a day filled with exertion and mystery. Had he ever run so far as after that doe? It was good to show the men his mettle now and then. But he was damned tired, no denying that. He would sleep well this night.

SIVE RESTED ON THE clean straw, soothed by the placid contentment of the horses sharing her little shelter. Her skin had finally stopped jumping at every yip from the restless dogs and shout from the men. The dogs could not reach her here. The human noises quieted as the men gathered in Finn’s house. Sive’s heart gave up its nervous race and settled into a steady rhythm; her legs rested gratefully on the earth. As the sun sank from the sky, Sive felt the blessing of a night without fear. The dark was peaceful, not threatening. She would sleep a bit, until the night was deep and silent.

She had never encountered hunters as determined as Finn’s men. It had been a long, hard run—much harder than she had expected—to lose them. And as her father had predicted, Finn and his dogs did not drop out of the race, but stayed on her heels until the others were far behind.

She was at the point of exhaustion herself, otherwise she might never have found the courage to turn and stand. Finn’s dogs were fierce and eager, their voices roaring through her head, and the deer in her was certain they would tear her apart.

“But
how
will they know me?” she had asked her father, but he had only shrugged helplessly.

“I cannot know for certain that they will. Manannan thinks that it is probable, for like recognizes like. It is a risk you must decide to take—or not.”

For nearly three years she had been exiled, not only from the comforts and company of the hearth but from her own true nature. If she remained a deer much longer, there would be no returning. Steeling herself, she overrode the instinct that commanded her to run—to run until her heart burst in its cage or her legs collapsed beneath her. For a moment she just stood, trembling with fatigue and fear, head down, lathered flanks heaving. The hounds’ voices swelled behind her.

Turning, she folded her legs beneath her and lay down on the grass. As the hounds scrambled over the rise and bore down upon her, she closed her eyes. She thought of the little fawn who had brought about her first change. It would be her neck, not his, that felt the ripping grip of teeth.

But it was not teeth, but Bran’s hot breath in her face and his dripping tongue washing her muzzle, that she felt. And she opened her eyes to a new life.

HER FIRST SIGHT OF FINN had made her heart quail. Backlit in the late afternoon sun, he was a featureless dark outline of a man. Huge, he seemed, so tall and powerfully built. Even if they had not been shadowed, Sive’s deer eyes could not make much sense out of human features. But she made herself gaze directly at him, pressing back the deer and willing her true self to speak to him through her animal eyes.

At first he did not move or speak. Sceolan pressed reassuringly against her. Bran gamboled about, sometimes scooting over to Finn and back. Still the great man stood silent. Sive held her breath. If he rushed at her, it would be all she could do not to bolt.

He did not rush or even take a step. In a voice softer than she had ever heard from a mortal man, he spoke to her. She did not need to know the words. She understood.

Slowly, Sive gathered her limbs and stood. The first hesitant step was the hardest. Once she started, she did not doubt her way. She followed the kind voice until she stood at Finn’s side.

Quiet as ever, his voice changed quality as wonder crept into it. His hand eased out toward her, just a few inches, and stopped. Sive stretched out her muzzle and laid it into his rough palm.

“Will you come home with me?” Finn asked. The dogs were already leading the way. Finn turned to follow. And Sive followed Finn.

FINN STIRRED IN HIS BED. What had awakened him? The soft noise repeated itself, and his eyes flew open, heart lurching into an alarmed gallop. Then his reason woke up: the dogs at his feet were silent and untroubled. In fact, he could feel a tail thumping in welcome against his shin. This was no enemy creeping, sword in hand, to Finn’s bedchamber. Brave enemy indeed, to enter a house where half the Fianna sheltered!

Sitting up, he peered across the small chamber at the shadowy figure in the entranceway. A single candle cast a tiny wavering light that showed little more than the hand holding it.

“Who is it?”

The figure came closer, holding the candlestick higher so that he could see.

She moved as though she were weightless, her feet barely denting the earth. Her gown shimmered over a body as graceful as a young willow. And her face…Finn had never laid eyes on a face so lovely, nor so troubled and full of entreaty.

“My lord.”

She did not seem to know what else to say. Finn rose and took her hand, and sat her down on the end of his bed. The dogs edged over to lie close beside her, and she seemed to take comfort in stroking their great heads. Finn took the candle from her and used it to light his lamps, and then he pulled a spare blanket from his chest to drape over her shoulders.

He sat down across from her.

“You are the deer.”

She nodded with relief. “They told me you were wise.” Her voice like the low flute, making him yearn for it to continue. She offered a fleeting tremulous smile, and Finn’s heart lurched painfully. “I couldn’t think how to say that part to a mortal. It is three winters I have been wandering Eire in the body of a deer, sleeping out in the weather and eating…” Her voice trailed off, and Finn saw tears glistening in her eyes. He wanted to kiss those tears away, to lift the sorrow from her lovely eyes and make them dance with joy.