Son of the Shadows (32 page)

That was how it was for us. That is how it is for me

. He released me gently, leaving me shivering and close to tears.

"I don't understand," I whispered. "I don't understand why I was brought here. Why would you choose to reveal yourself thus to me? I am no druid."

Maybe not. Still, you have gifts. Powerful and dangerous gifts akin to my own. The Sight. The healing power of the mind, which you have scarcely tapped as yet. I see you in peril; I see you as a link in the chain, a link on which much depends. You must learn to harness your gifts, or they will become no more than a burden.

"Harness them? My visions come unbidden. I cannot tell if they are true or false, past or future."

This time he spoke aloud, his voice cracked and hesitant as if long unused. "They can be puzzles, cryptic and misleading. Sometimes they are terrifyingly clear. Here in this place of protection, it is easier to keep control. Outside the grove, the shadows move closer. Let me show you. What is it you carry so deep in your heart? What is it you would see, above all else? Look in the water.

Make your mind quiet."

I could not help glancing around to see if Conor was watching; there was no sign of him. Then I willed myself to utter stillness. I made my breathing slow and deep, felt time and place change
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and settle around me. There was a flicker of light, a flash of color in the water, and an image growing steadily clearer. The image rippled and changed. It was dark. Dark save for a small lantern burning under the shelter of strange, fronded trees. There were two men there, one sleeping, rolled in a blanket, braided hair falling

back from ebony skin. Perhaps he had tried to stay awake, to be there for his friend during the dark time, but battle weariness had overwhelmed him at last. The other man sat cross-legged, with a long knife in one hand and a stone in the other, and he sharpened the knife with deliberate, even strokes, one and two and three. His eyes seemed to follow the steady movement of the weapon, but he was not seeing it. At times he glanced up as if in hope of some lightening of the sky, and then, resigned, took up his task again.

The blade of that knife would have sliced straight through a man, armor and all.

My hand stretched out, despite myself, and I made some small sound. And at that instant, the man in the water looked up, looked straight at me. His expression struck me to the heart.

Bitterness, resentment, longing; I could not say which was written most starkly on his features.

His eyes widened in shock and slowly, very slowly, he put the knife down. He lifted his hand, reached his patterned fingers out toward me, and I stretched my own hand out just a little farther, just a little more . . .

Do not touch the water's surface.

But I had, and the ripples came up again, and Bran's image was gone. I let my breath out and sat back, with tears in my eyes.

"You'll have need of this, Liadan. You must learn, while you are here. You must learn quickly and practice the skills. Soon enough, this walk and climb will be too much for you, for a while at least."

I gaped, almost forgetting to keep my eyes down. Was nothing secret?

"Secrets are safe here."

"You saw, I suppose. Saw what was shown to me."

"Oh yes. And he saw you, make no doubt of it. But that is nothing new to him. Your image is before his eyes through every battle, through every flight, through every subtle knife stroke, through every long, dark night. You bound him to you with your courage and with your tales.

You hold him to you now. You captured a wild creature when you had no place you could keep him. He cannot escape you, however hard he might wish it to be otherwise."

"You are wrong. He said he did not want me. He sent me away. I seek only to keep him safe, to light his way. There is no one else to do it." I was not comfortable with his words. They made me sound like some seductress who possesses a man against his will.

"You speak no more nor less than the truth. You are responsible. You changed his path. Now you shut him out. Would you deny him his child?" Finbar looked very serious, but there was no judgment in his tone. Still I felt a flare of anger at his words.

"What am I supposed to do? I don't even know who he is. And besides, he despises me. He will never come to Sevenwaters. He blames us—he blames my father, and my mother, for what he has become.

Are you suggesting I should seek him out?"

"I suggest nothing. I simply show you what is to be seen."

"I—I met the Fair Folk. The Lady of the Forest and a lord with hair like flames. They said—they told me to give this man up. They wanted me to promise to stay in the forest and not to marry.

But I would not promise."

"Ah."

"I don't know what to think. There were other voices, too, in that place. Older voices, and they told

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me—they seemed to tell me my own choices were right. Now I don't know what to do."

"Don't weep, child."

"I'm not—I—" My feelings threatened to overwhelm me. I had longed to see Bran, yet seeing him had awoken an aching sadness within me for what could not be.

"I had a chance to change the course of events, once, long ago," Finbar said, "the chance to save a man's life and liberty at great risk. I took it and am glad that I did, though there is no telling if my choice was right or wrong. Perhaps what happened later was my punishment for believing I might make a difference.

For, as you see, I am prevented from taking my part in the world of affairs. I am set outside and belong neither to one realm nor the other, a mere conduit." Behind his look of tranquil resignation, his tone of calm acceptance, I sensed a deep sorrow. "I know what I would wish to see you do. But I will not offer you advice. For now, I see you bear a heavy burden for one so small. Let me at least ease this for a while. Let me show you, for you will need to use this skill yourself in time. Sit quiet. Let the things that trouble you go."

Subtly, images began to creep into my thoughts: a full moon rising above a lake, with a wide pathway of silver spreading across the still water. A lark spiraling up into a morning sky, its song a pure anthem of joy. The feeling of being held in strong arms, warm and comforting. Myself and Sean racing along the lake shore, hearts pounding, hair tangled by the wind as we laughed and shouted with the thrill of being alive and young and free. A hillside planted with young oaks; the slanting sunlight catching their new leaves and turning them to brilliant gold. The sound of a baby's gurgling laughter. More images, all beautiful, all with some special meaning that reminded me of the good things in my life, the things that made me glad to be a part of Sev enwaters and of the family that belonged there. I was full of hope, full of well-being. The vision darkened momentarily, and I looked into a pair of gray eyes that were steady as a rock, trustworthy eyes. I heard a voice, and it was not Finbar's, saying, You don't have to do this alone, you know

. Then as gently as they had come to me, the images faded, and my mind came back to itself; and I opened my eyes and saw before me the still waters of the pond and the figure of my uncle, gazing calmly at me across its reflective surface.

There were so many questions in my mind, I did not know where to begin.

"You will learn to do this as I do. It takes an effort of will. You must make yourself stronger than the other, strong enough to bend his thoughts with your own."

"You think I will be called upon to do this? When?"

"I know you will be. I cannot tell you when. You will recognize the need. Now, Liadan. What of the child?"

Fear struck me suddenly. "The child is mine," I said, and my tone was fierce. "I will decide his future. It is not for Fair Folk, nor human folk, to set his path for him."

"So you say. The child is yours. And you want the man as well; I saw that in your eyes as you reached for his image. But this man cannot be tamed, Liadan. You will not keep him at Sevenwaters. And the child must stay here, for all our sakes. The child may be the key. Doubtless the Fair Folk told you that as well. Has it occurred to you that perhaps you cannot have both?"

"Surely it need not be so," I said, not liking at all the sound of where he was heading.

"Your man bears the mark of the raven."

"He is a Briton. So I believe. I would swear not one drop of Irish blood flows in his veins. He cannot be the one of the prophecy. It is no more than coincidence."

"You respond instantly." Finbar's expression was grave. "Clearly, this has been in your thoughts.

But you are right. His face is patterned in the raven's image, fierce enough to keep away all but the most determined. And yet he does not match the words of the prophecy. Neither of Britain nor of Erin, but at the same time both. This man does not match; but his son will."

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I made a gesture of denial.

"Be still, Liadan. I tell you this only to warn you. The son bears the mark of his father in his blood and in his bearing. There is no escaping it. Your son will be the son of the raven. He will carry forward the lineage of both mother and father. A Briton, a woman of Erin who herself is a child of both races. It matches. It is time. Once his parentage is known, that is what everyone will say."

I was chilled to the bone.

"Are you telling me it is better if nobody knows whose child he is?"

"I did not say that. It is a terrible thing for a son never to know his father, for a father never to meet his son. Ask yourself why you chose the tales you did to tell while you were among the fianna. I do not seek to influence you; I know better than that. You will make your own choices, and so will this man with the raven mask who does not know he is a father. Perhaps you will continue to break the pattern. Still, it would be wise to take steps to protect the child. Forces are astir that we thought long gone. There are those who will not want this child to grow to be a man. Here in the forest, he will be safe."

"How do you know so much?"

"I

know nothing. I tell you only what I have seen." I frowned. "Everyone keeps saying—you, Mother, Conor, even the lady herself—they keep talking about the old evil. Something returning and having to be fought. What evil? Why doesn't anyone explain?"

He gazed at me with something like pity. "They have not yet told you then?"

"What? Told me what?"

"This, I think, is not for me to reveal to you. Conor bound us to silence. Perhaps you will know in time.

Meanwhile, keep your candle burning, child. Your man has gone far away. He is encircled by shadows."

"I am strong," I said. "Strong enough to hold onto him and to my child. I will keep both. I will not give them up." My own words surprised me; they did not seem at all the words of common sense, yet somehow I knew them for truth.

There was a brief silence and then the unexpected sound of quiet laughter.

"How could I doubt you?" said Finbar, with a grin like his brother's, incongruous in the fragile, shadowed face. "You are your mother's daughter." Then, without a sound, Conor was standing beside me, laying a reassuring hand on my shoulder.

"We should be going," he said, and whether he had heard any of what had passed between me and his brother there was no telling. "No doubt your father is biting his nails." Before us the pool was as flat as glass.

Go home now, Liadan. I will be here when you need me. Practice your art

. I nodded, and we turned

and made our way beneath the overhanging trees and began the long walk home. I took my chance when we were nearly in sight of the lake and asked Conor, "Uncle? Do you know what became of the young druid, Ciaran? Did he return to the nemetons?"

There was a very long silence, and then he said quietly, "No, Liadan. He did not return."

"Where did he go?"

Conor sighed. "On a long journey. He chose a path of great peril in order to seek his past. He vowed never to return to the brotherhood. It is a great loss; greater than he knows."

"Uncle—has this something to do with the thing, the evil my mother speaks of, some shadow from the past that has returned?" Conor's mouth tightened. He made no reply.

"Why won't you tell me?" I asked him, both exasperated and a little frightened. "Why won't anyone tell me?"

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"This cannot be told," Conor said gravely, and we fell back into silence. It was dark by the time we reached the forest's margin and crossed the fields to the house, where lighted lanterns hung outside the main door and folk bustled around the courtyard.

"You're tired," observed Conor, as we came up the gravel walkway. "Even I am a little weary.

But there will be no early bed tonight. I would say, from the looks of it, that the Ui Neill and your sister are expected this same day. Will you manage this?"

"I always manage."

"That has not gone unnoticed."

We entered the bright hall. Conor had been right. My sister was expected before supper time, and during our absence other guests had arrived, and the house was full of light and talk and the smell of good food.

There was Seamus Redbeard, warming his generous rump in front of the fire, and his young wife giggling shyly as he whispered in her ear. Sean and Aisling hand in hand, radiant with happiness to be together again. My father, frowning at Conor. And Eamonn. Eamonn rising to his feet as we came in, white faced, eyes fixed on me as if he had been waiting for this very moment. I fled upstairs to change. Never had I

longed so much to curl up under the covers and go straight to sleep. The fire in my room had been lit, as if Janis knew when I would be home, and a green gown was laid out on the bed. I dragged off my old garments and struggled into the new. My stomach was just a little more rounded. Not so you'd notice, if you weren't looking for it. Soon enough everyone would know.

I fastened the gown and splashed my face with water from the bowl left ready for me. I bent to the fire, held a stick in the heart of the flames until it caught. The candle had burned a long way down. Soon, I must fashion another. I lit the wick, and the scent of herbs began to drift in the evening air. Herbs of love, herbs of healing.