Son of the Shadows (31 page)

"You should ask Conor," said my mother. "He will be here tomorrow. Ask him whether he believes it wise to disregard the prophecy."

"Conor!" Liam's tone was cold. "Conor's judgment can no longer be trusted."

"That's harsh," said Iubdan. "All of us had a part in what happened with Ciaran. You cannot lay all the blame on your brother."

"I know that, Briton," snapped my uncle. "Your daughter's lack of self-control was also a factor."

My father rose slowly to his feet. He was a good head taller than Liam. Beside him, Sorcha raised her hand to shield a delicate yawn.

"It's late," she murmured. "Time to retire, I think. Liadan, you're not well. Come, I'll see you to bed. Red, could you bring a candle, please?" She got up, moving over to her scowling brother.

"Good night, Liam."

She stood on tiptoes and kissed him on both cheeks. "The goddess give you sweet dreams and a clear head in the morning. Good night, Sean." All three men fell silent, the anger gone from their eyes. Dana only knew how they'd manage when my mother was gone.

At dawn the next day we stood under a great oak deep in the forest ready for the ritual of Mean Fomhair. Conor was there with several others of his kind, but this time no red-haired apprentice shadowed his still, upright figure in its gleaming white. We bore in our hands the fruits of this season's good harvest, one perfect example of each. A flawless apple, a fine leafy cabbage, a handful of silken grain, a small flask of mead, cider, honey, fresh herbs. My fingers held an acorn, safe in its glossy protective shell, nestled firm in its little cup. We stood about the ancient tree, shivering in the chill before dawn. Liam, solemn and pale, and by him Sean, a younger version of
Page 117

the same man. My father, who held no particular beliefs, stood very still by the immense trunk with my mother in the circle of his arm. She was heavily cloaked against the cold. None of us had been able to persuade her to stay indoors and rest.

Kitchen woman and warrior stood there quiet, horse boy and forester side by side, the people of household, farm, and settlement. It was fortunate that Fionn and his company had not yet arrived. He knew, of course, that our family followed the old ways, but it was wise not to make him aware of quite how significant this was in our lives, for it sat uneasily with the strong Christian faith of his own household.

If he were to be wooed into the alliance, we must set no foot wrong.

Conor spoke the words as the first cold light of dawn pierced the autumn canopy, and we began to lay our offerings about the gnarled and tangled roots of this oldest inhabitant of the forest, touching the rough bark, giving a nod of reverence here, a whispered greeting there. This time there were no pyrotechnics, no wizard's tricks. My uncle spoke simply, from the heart.

"Our gratitude is too deep for words. We give it what voice we can here under the oaks. To the sun that brought forth life from the earth. To the guardians of the forest, who watch over what is good all through the growing time, who watch over all things from birth to death and beyond.

In you is the wisdom of ages. We honor your presence and offer you the finest fruits of this abundant season for we, too, are the dwellers of the forest, we too are Dana's folk, although we are mortal; and we follow the paths you open for us from our first breath to our last and beyond."

Conor seemed weary, as if he must summon up a great effort of will to continue. There was some weight in his thoughts, some great quandary that burdened him. I felt this in my own heart, and yet I could not have said what it was. His face was serene as always, the gray eyes deep and calm in the growing light.

"We honor no less the coming darkness. All things must sleep. All things must dream and become wise.

Welcome, Queen and Enchantress, you who open for us the way of secrets. We acknowledge your insights. Your wisdom we both crave and fear. You give birth; you reap death. We welcome your return.

We ready ourselves for the time of shadows."

We stood there awhile, heads bowed, as the sun came up and the gray world of early dawn warmed slowly to brown and green and gold. Iubdan still sheltered my mother with his arm, and his eyes were bleak. Conor spoke but the truth; death comes, and there is no halting it. The movement of the wheel is relentless. All changes; all moves on. A Briton might grow to understand that if he lived among our kind long enough, but he would never accept it.

The ritual over, folk made their way back along the forest paths, thoughts of a warm fire and a bowl of porridge doubtless strong in their minds. After a while I found myself walking beside my Uncle Conor, and in a flash, it seemed, the rest were gone and it was just the two of us, keeping pace together in the immense quiet of the forest.

"I'm glad you have a warm cloak and a good pair of boots," observed my uncle. "We have a fair way to go."

I refrained from comment. It did not seem necessary. But after we had walked awhile I said, "My father might be worried."

A small grin flashed across Conor's calm features.

"Iubdan knows you are with me. Of course, he may not find that totally reassuring. I no longer have their trust as I once did. And you do seem to have a capacity to attract—complications."

Our feet were soft on a carpet of damp leaves.

"What if Niamh comes today?" I asked him. "I could miss her. I need to be home when my sister comes."

Page 118

He nodded gravely. "I understand, Liadan. I understand better than you think. But for you, this is more important. We'll be back before nightfall."

I raised my brows but made no response.

After a while, my uncle said, "Skillful, aren't you? Even I cannot get under your guard. Where did you learn to put such an iron barrier around your mind? And why? What is it you hold there?

I've seen such control but once before, when Finbar held out against your mother long ago. That hurt her badly."

"I do what I must."

He glanced at me. "Mmm," was all he said. And we walked on in silence, keeping a brisk pace, as the day brightened and the forest came alive around us. We walked down the avenues of oaks, as golden leaves spiraled around us in a freshening breeze and squirrels busied themselves, preparing for the dark time. We went by the lake's gray waters and up the course of the seventh stream, swelling with autumn rains to a miniature torrent. It was a steep climb over tumbled stones whose surfaces were curiously patterned, as if some strange finger had marked each with a secret language, whose codes existed only in the mind of one long departed. At the top of the rise we rested, and he produced a frugal meal of dried bread and wrinkled fruit. We drank from the stream, and the cold of the water made my head ache. It was a strange sort of morning but companionable enough.

"You don't ask me where we are going," Conor said, as we started off again, up a slope between thickly clustered rowans laden with scarlet berries.

"No, I don't," I responded mildly.

He grinned again, and for a moment I could see the boy he had once been, running wild with his five brothers and one little sister in the vast spaces of the forest. But the serene mask of the archdruid settled over his features almost immediately.

"I said this was important to you. I had hoped to explain a little to you direct, mind to mind. But I see you will let nobody in. You're guarding a powerful secret. I must use words then. There is a spring, and a pool, hidden so well that few know of its existence. I'm taking you there. You need to understand the gifts you have, and what you can do, or you risk running blind with a power you scarcely recognize. I will show you."

"You underestimate me," I said coolly. "I am not a child. I know the dangers of power exercised unwisely, without thought." Bold words, for I understood only vaguely what he meant.

"Maybe," he said. We moved sharply left between drooping branches of willow and suddenly, there it was, a small, still pool between mossy stones, where fresh water welled up from underground.

Insignificant in itself; a place you would almost certainly miss if you did not know it was there.

"This place does not reveal itself to every traveler," said Conor, making a quick sign in the air before him and halting two paces from the water's margin.

"What now?" I asked him.

"Sit on the stones. Look into the water. I will not be far away. This is a place where secrets are safe, Liadan. These stones hold a thousand years of secrets."

I sat down and fixed my gaze on the unruffled surface of the pool. There was a feeling of deep shelter about this place, a sense of protection. It was as if nothing had changed here for a very long time. Words came to me in silence.

This rock is your mother. She holds you in the palm of her hand

. My uncle

had moved back under the willows and out of sight. I tried to clear my mind of thoughts and images, but one at least would not be erased, and I refused to relax the shield I had set up there.

Page 119

If anyone tracked down the Painted Man, it would not be because I had betrayed what I knew.

Nobody was to be trusted.

Not even an archdruid.

The water moved and shifted. But here in this little glade, closely encircled by tree and rock, there was not a breath of wind. The water rippled. A momentary flash of white showed in the depths and was gone.

I forced myself to stay there, not to look up. The air was as still and heavy as if a summer storm were brewing, and yet the day held autumn's chill. The water stirred and bubbled and was still again.

Somebody was standing on the other side of the little pool, and it was not my Uncle Conor.

You are very like your mother

. Whoever it was, he had got through the barrier around my mind in a flash, with a skill far beyond even Conor's. I had no hope of countering such strength.

The same, but not the same

. I sat there, unable to look up.

You don't need to look. You know who I am

. The water turned opaque, then reflective. And his image was there. It could have been Conor.

It could almost have been Conor. The clothes were different, of course. In place of the snowy white robe, this man wore shapeless garments of an indefinable hue between gray and brown.

His feet were bare on the stones.

Conor's hair was in the small, neat braids of the druids. This man's black curls tangled wild around his shoulders. Conor's eyes were gray, quiet, and calm. This man had a gaze so deep it was unfathomable, and his eyes seemed as colorless as the water in which I saw them reflected. I could not force myself to look up.

You know who lam

. He moved slightly, and there was that flash of white again. He wore a voluminous cloak of dark homespun, a worn old garment that hung unevenly to the ground, fastened at one shoulder.

He shifted again, and I acknowledged the truth. My eyes had not deceived me. In place of his left arm, this man had the wing of a large bird, powerful and white plumed. He drew the folds of the cloak across again.

Uncle

. If it is possible for the voice of the mind to tremble, that was how mine sounded.

Sorcha's daughter. You are so like her. What is your name'?

Liadan. But

—

Look up now, Liadan.

I half expected that there would be nobody there. He was standing so still you could hardly see him, as if he were a part of the stones themselves and of the mosses and ferns that grew there. A man who was neither young nor old, his features made in the image of my mother's; but in place of her fey, green eyes, his were clear and far seeing, the color of light through still water. His reflection had been true. A man of middle height, lean, straight backed, a man who bore forever the mark of what had happened to them, the six brothers with the one small sister.

What are you'? Are you a druid?

It is my brother who is the druid.

What are you then? Are you one of the filidh?

I am the beat of a swan's wing on the breath of the wind. I am the secret at the heart of the standing stone. I am the island in the wild sea. I am the fire in the head of the seer. I am neither of that world nor of this. And yet, I am a man. I have blood on my hands. I have loved and lost. I feel your pain, and I know your strength.

Page 120

I stared at him, awestruck.

They thought you were dead. Everyone. They said you drowned yourself

.

Some knew the truth. I cannot live in the one world or the other. I walk the margin. That is the doom the Sorceress laid on me.

I hesitated.

My mother

—

you know she is very sick1? She comes near the time of her journey

. My uncle seemed quite calm.

Wouldn't you come to see her before that time comes'? Couldn't you do that'

?

I need not be there for her to see me

. Beneath the tranquil exterior there was a deep sadness. Much had been lost through the work of the Lady Oonagh.

So she knows? She knows where you are'?

At first she did not. Now it is different. They all know: my sister, my brothers, those who are left.

It is better that others do not know. Conor's initiates visit me from time to time.

It must be

—

it must be very hard for you

. How hard, I could scarcely imagine.

Let me show you. Make your mind quiet, Liadan, quiet and still. Breathe deep. That's it. Wait a little. Now feel what I do. Feel my thoughts as they fold into yours. As they wrap you safe. Feel my mind as it becomes one with your own. Let what I am become a part of you for a time. See as I see.

I did as he asked me, not fearful, for somehow I understood there was no danger in this place. I breathed the same breath; I felt his mind as it slipped into mine as subtle and mysterious as a shadow, and held me fast. But not as a prisoner, for within the protective cloak of his thoughts, I was still myself, and at the same time I was young Finbar, standing by the lake in the chill of a misty dawn, staring into the face of evil, feeling myself changing, changing, so my mind knew only what a wild creature comprehends: cold, hunger, danger . . . food, sleep ... the eggs in the nest, the mate with her graceful, arching back and glossy feathers . . . birth, death, loss ... the cold, the water, the rushing terror of transformation.