Sevenwaters: Seer Of Sevenwaters Part 14

"Fifteen! Sixteen!" yelled Rat. "Don't test my patience any further, man!"

A man falling, falling away down . . . a rag doll tumbling through the air, russet hair streaming, limbs thrashing . . .

"Alba," I said, as chill fingers wrapped themselves around my heart, "is Rodan a red-haired man?"

"That's right, Sibeal. He's the fellow I thought I liked. Huh! All that man wants is to get under a girl's skirt, and he's not too fussy about which girl it is."

I was on my feet, my skin clammy with dread. "Clodagh, I'm sorry, I have to go," I muttered, and elbowed my way through the crowd to the gateway as, behind me, Rat called Rodan's name one last time. "Sorry, excuse me, feeling sick-"

I was out. What now? In my head the vision repeated itself, a man teetering on the cliff top, the fall, the long, long fall, the landing-oh G.o.ds, russet hair splashed with violent crimson-the screaming celebration of gulls. Run, Sibeal! Run, run, you can reach him in time! For why would I be shown this, if I had not the power to prevent it?

I ran, letting instinct guide me as it had when I found Ardal washed up in the cove. My feet followed their own path; I was not aware of choosing left or right, up or down. I ran until my chest was tight with pain and my knees were giving way under me. Out from the settlement, along the cliff path toward the point that housed Finbar's cave, past one small bay, another, a third . . . Nearly there . . . Part of me, the part that still had room for logic, said I should have brought someone with me, one of the men, or at least should have told Clodagh where I was going and why. Should have told Johnny. Should have fetched a rope. Don't go out walking on your own . . .

Before I found the place, I heard the gulls and knew I had come too late. Ahead I could see the way around the northwest point, where the cave entry was concealed between rocks. On my left the hillside rose in a slope fit only for mountain goats. To my right, two strides from the path, earth gave way to sea in a dizzying drop. The place below was alive with squawks and screams. I halted, gasping for breath, my eyes and nose streaming. The cliff edge was jagged, slit by many narrow ravines; tufts of sharp-leaved gra.s.s grew here and there.

One step closer. Two steps. I peered over, my heart sounding a drumbeat of terror. I could see nothing but the darkness of the sea and the pale lacework of waves at the edge of the rocks. I backed up, lay down on my belly and wriggled forward until my head was over the edge. A woman falling, falling . . . dark hair streaming upwards, mouth open in a silent shriek . . . Stop it, Sibeal. Do what must be done here. I looked down and there was the substance of my vision, complete in every detail. Rodan had landed in the shape of the rune Nyd: defiance in the face of certain death. I inched back from the drop, got to my knees and retched up what little fluid was left in my stomach.

No time to give in to weakness. I must take stock of the place so others could locate it quickly. Johnny would want to retrieve the body. That would need to be arranged in haste, or the sea would rob that man of his chance to be laid to rest with due ritual. I could see no way down, but perhaps the men would find one.

I moved along the path, looking for anything out of place, and wondering what might have drawn a Connacht man all the way out here on the very day he was due to step up and demonstrate his skills. "What were you?" I mused. "Were you a Christian? Were you of the old faith? Perhaps you were a G.o.dless man." I supposed I would be the one speaking prayers over Rodan before he was laid to rest. All I knew about him was that he had found it hard to take no for an answer.

I could see where he had gone over. In one place the earth beside the path had been disturbed, and toward the edge his feet had scored deep marks. I saw him losing his balance, flailing with his arms, desperate to keep safe purchase. His feet slipping. His eyes wide. His mouth stretched in a last great cry. Nooooo . . .

"G.o.ds be merciful to this man," I murmured. "Manannan, I ask you not to take his remains, but to allow him burial here, under the gaze of his friends." The news Johnny must send back to Connacht might be softened just a little if he could tell Rodan's chieftain that we had buried him with dignity. "But if your waves must carry him away, I pray that they rock him gently, as if he were a child new-minted, sleeping in his cradle. Morrigan, Dark Lady, know that Rodan was a warrior, and far from home. Lead him safely through the final doorway. On his new journey, may he find peace."

I had a square of linen in my pouch. This I placed on the path opposite the spot where Rodan had fallen. I weighted it with a stone. I took a deep, steadying breath, then headed back toward the settlement. I ran; not as fast as before, but as fast as I could manage. Before I had gone very far, I saw two tall men coming the other way: Gareth and Kalev, heading toward me at a purposeful jog.

"By all the G.o.ds, Sibeal," Gareth observed as we met, "you run as fast as a deer. What is it, what's happened?"

I sat down suddenly on the rocks. "You'll find him just along there," I said, wondering if the way everything was spinning around me meant I was about to faint, and feeling immensely grateful that I had not done so on the cliff's edge. "Rodan. He's dead. At the foot of the cliff. I marked the place." I put my head in my hands. "As for running fast, I was not fast enough."

Kalev went ahead to look, while Gareth waited with me, crouched down with his arm around my shoulders. Then Kalev ran back to the settlement with the news, and Gareth and I followed more slowly. He explained that Rodan's body could be fetched up by men on ropes; they'd need to move quickly before the tide came in much further, but there should be time.

It was only after we had reached the settlement and Gareth had pa.s.sed me into Clodagh's care that I remembered Knut's bout with Cathal.

"What happened?" I asked my sister, who was steering me toward the kitchen. "How did Knut acquit himself?"

"Amazingly well," Clodagh said. "He lost, of course. In the end. But everyone was impressed. He's a fighter of outstanding skill. The men gave Cathal a rousing cheer when he finally managed to divest Knut of his sword. But not as loud as the cheer Knut got. Everyone's suggesting Johnny should offer him a place here if he wants it."

People were going in and out of the dining hall, and I suspected there would be a press inside. "Clodagh, I would rather be somewhere quiet, on my own," I said. "Can we go to the infirmary?"

"Later," Clodagh said. "They're busy in there. One of the Connacht men has a deep cut-a knife slipped-and his two friends seem determined not to leave his side until they're sure Muirrin has given him the care he needs. Another man is having his ankle tended to." She eyed me narrowly. "I'll find you a quiet corner."

"But-"

"No arguments, Sibeal. To be frank, you look terrible. Your face is a greenish color, and you're shaking-look." She took my hand and held it up before me. I could not keep it steady. "See? You can't argue with that."

Installed in a cozy nook close to the fire with Clodagh's shawl around my shoulders and a cup of warm spiced ale between my hands, I sat quietly as people came and went. It was the usual practice to provide a hearty meal after a morning of bouts, but Rodan's death had disturbed the pattern. There were plenty of folk in the hall, and most of them were eating, but the talk was in lowered voices and many of the familiar faces were absent. I saw Knut among a group of island warriors. They were talking quietly, sipping their ale, gesturing in a way that suggested perhaps they were discussing the morning's combat. The Knut I saw now seemed unlike the man who had stood over Ardal this morning. Then, I had felt fury and terror spilling from the two of them. Now, exchanging easy banter with his comrades, Knut looked perfectly at home. He looked as if he belonged.

"Rat's keeping the rest of the Connacht men over in the practice area for now," Clodagh explained. "Johnny's talking to them. And Gareth's organizing the party to go and retrieve the body. This will be challenging for Johnny. It's not the kind of news he'd want brought home from a stay on the island."

At some point, Johnny would summon me to tell what I had seen; to relate the vision that had drawn me out to that cliff top, and the reality I had found. I could not retire to my chamber until that duty was done. I must eat and drink. I must collect my wits. It was hard to do that amid the comings and goings, the noise of voices and clattering pans, the smell of spices and wood smoke. Why had I been shown the falling man? Why had that vision come to me when it was too late? Or had it? My mind had been on my own concerns, and on Ardal in particular. I had been distracted. The warning had been clear enough. The terrible truth was that if I had told someone the first time I saw the vision, I might have saved Rodan's life.

Ardal. I wanted Ardal. I wanted to talk to him, just the two of us alone. I wanted to release the churning ma.s.s of guilt and confusion that was building inside me. Ardal would listen without judging me. I could tell him anything. He would hold my hand and make me feel better again. But that made no sense at all. It was upside down and back to front, and I did not want to consider what it meant. I clutched my cup more tightly, wondering when my hands would stop shaking. A druid. Almost a druid. Falling apart like an overwrought child.

I was not accustomed to feeling this way, almost as if I were drowning. Summon a simple technique, Sibeal, something you know so well you can do it without thinking. A pattern of breathing, slow and steady. That was the key to calm. It was the first thing every novice learned in the nemetons.

It wouldn't come. My heart raced, my head whirled, my body was possessed by bouts of shivering. I was on the verge of tears. It would not do. Soon I must face Johnny. Eat. Drink. Be calm, I ordered myself. I nibbled the newly baked roll Biddy brought me. I sipped my ale. When I had achieved some measure of control over my wayward thoughts, I asked myself why a fit young man, with friends and skill and, I supposed, a good future ahead of him, would wander off, lose his balance and fall to his death.

After a while someone came to fetch me, and there was an awkward interview in which Clodagh and I sat at a table with Johnny and the leader of the Connacht men, with one or two others in attendance, and I gave my account of what had happened. I felt as if I were somewhere else, watching myself as I spoke calmly and precisely, not forgetting any detail. It was obvious how Rodan had died. I had no idea why. Perhaps his friends could cast some light on that.

I agreed to conduct a burial rite next day. Rodan had not been a man of faith, but his father followed the old ways, and the Connacht chieftain wanted to be able to tell the family their son had been laid to rest with appropriate prayers. I expressed my sympathy for the loss, and the three Connacht warriors who were present thanked me. It had been necessary to explain to them that I was a seer, and that a flash of Sight had led me to the fallen man. I did not say that I had seen the vision before, several times, and had mentioned it to n.o.body. When we were done, Johnny walked to the door with me, and before I went out, he said in an undertone, "We'll speak further of this, Sibeal."

"Mm," I murmured. I saw on his face that he knew I was holding something back, and I wondered if he, too, had not spoken with complete frankness in the presence of those other men.

"But not now," Johnny said. "You look quite ill. Best go and lie down for a while." His gray eyes were searching. "You can't save everyone."

*Felix*

Night falls once more. At last it is quiet.

A man died today, in a fall from a cliff top. The infirmary was full of folk; I heard this news as they spoke together. One of the visitors. An accident. I saw the glances they gave me, the men who came in and out with their wounds to be dressed and their friends in attendance. I read the message in their cold eyes, their grim-set mouths. They looked, then turned their backs on me. That's him. That's the ill luck man. Even the warriors who are only visiting this island give me those looks. I am not welcome here. Perhaps I never was. What am I to this community but a burden and a trouble? I should go. As soon as I can, I will go and take my ill luck with me. Never mind the mission. Never mind the shadow that hovers just beyond the grasp of my mind, the darkness that nudges at me, seeking to be understood. I might linger here all summer and not remember. I might linger here forever, a blight on this place and its good people.

Gull comes to tend to me, gentle as always. He helps me wash and dry myself. He holds the pan for me, then squints at my water, nodding sagely.

"Gull," I tell him, "I will go soon."

"Mm-hm." He sets the pan by the door, ready to be emptied. "And where would you be going?"

"Away. Away from the island."

"That was always the intention, of course," says Gull, coming to stand by the pallet, on whose edge I sit awkwardly, my shoulders slumped, my legs dangling. "That you'd all go home when you were well, yourself, Knut and Svala. But you're not well yet, Ardal. It'll be some time before you're fit to travel. You must know that."

I do know. If I were well, I would have hurt Knut when he came this morning. I would have done him harm. I still see his eyes, cold with fear, hot with violent anger. He chose the moment when Muirrin went out; he must have been keeping watch. In an instant, there he was in the infirmary, right beside my bed. I had not even time to sit up.

"You remembered," he said. "You told."

"I remember nothing."

"You're lying. The girl, Sibeal. You told her about your brother."

I felt my whole body tighten. Sibeal. To hear her name from his lips filled me with horror.

"The two of you are close, aren't you?" Knut said, and he made a crude gesture with his hands. "That's what they're all saying. Girl can't stay away from you, druid as she claims to be. Did you know she likes wandering along those cliff paths all by herself? Slight little thing-a puff of wind could blow her away."

"How dare you!" I struggled to rise. He put his big hand on my shoulder and pushed me back down. "How dare you threaten her?"

"Ah. I see that I've touched a raw spot. Seems I was right, you do set a higher value on her life than on your own. I could kill you now, of course-you're as weak as a newborn babe. But that would attract too much attention."

"If you lay a finger on her, I'll-"

"You'll what? Stamp your foot? Cry? Spare me. It's within your power to protect the girl. Just keep your wretched mouth shut."

I wanted to put my hands around his neck and squeeze the life out of him. But my only strength was in my words, and my words made him laugh.

"Gull, I must leave this place," I say now. "I bring danger. I bring ill luck."

He busies himself collecting towel and cloth and bucket, hanging a garment from a peg, throwing another in a corner, finding me a clean shirt. "I've always been of the belief that a person's luck comes of itself," he says after a while. "You can't bring ill luck unless you have ill intent. But I'm not an expert on such matters. You should ask Sibeal; she's the druid."

"Where is she, Gull?" All day she has been gone. All day, my fear for her has grown, a cold heaviness in my gut.

"She went straight to her little chamber to rest. Difficult day for her."

Alarm darts through my veins. "Difficult, what do you mean?"

"She found that man's body," Gull says. "It upset her."

I am silent. This part of the story, I did not hear.

"I expect she'll tell you about it herself when she's ready. Or maybe not; she's had to give her account of it several times over, so Johnny can be quite sure what happened."

"There is some doubt?"

Gull is suddenly busy again, folding something; he's said too much already, perhaps.

"Gull?"

"Mm?"

"If Sibeal wakes, if she comes to sit by the fire tonight, I wish to speak to her alone."

"Oh, yes? You know, I suppose, that there are two reasons why I'm spending my nights in here and not in my own bed with my wife to keep me warm. One is to watch over you. The other's to provide respectability for Sibeal, since it's not quite right for her to be sleeping here with you in the next chamber. My presence makes it almost acceptable. Sibeal's family would not approve of my leaving the two of you on your own after dark."

"Just for a little," I say. "I wish only to talk to her, Gull, nothing more. I have none of those feelings toward her, the kind you imply . . . "

He looks at me, and I look at him. "b.o.l.l.o.c.ks," he says.

"I do not think I know this word." I need not know it to understand his meaning.

"Rubbish. Maybe you and she like ideas and arguments. Maybe you share a bent for scholarship. But I'm a man, Ardal, same as you. There's much more than that between you."

I manage a smile. He has surprised me. Am I so transparent? "You speak like a father to a wayward son," I tell him. "Very well, I amend what I said before. My feelings for Sibeal are many and complex. Foremost among them, always, will be respect. I respect her as a druid, as a scholar and as a woman. Look me in the eye as I say this, Gull, and tell me I am a liar."

Gull grins. Now I have surprised him. "Then we'll leave the decision up to Sibeal," he says. "She may still be too tired to want anything more than a bowl of food and a good night's sleep."

"Gull?"

"Mm?"

"Thank you. I am sorry your wife must sleep alone."

"Ah, well," he says, "I expect we'll make up for it later. How about trying a walk over to the fire? If you're so keen to be off the island and away, we'd best keep working on those legs."

Gull is yawning by the time Sibeal emerges from her little chamber at the end of the infirmary. Her face is pale; there are smudges of exhaustion around her lovely eyes. She hugs her shawl close about her. If I could be that shawl, I would shield her with the warmth of my arms and the courage of my heart. I would keep her from all harm. G.o.ds, how this weakness fetters me!

"You stayed up," Sibeal says, coming over to the fire where the two of us are sitting. She looks shaky on her feet, as if she might faint. "I'm sorry, I'm out of tune with time today. You should both be abed." She turns those eyes on me in a look of such care and concern that it stops my words.

"No trouble," Gull says easily. "I've been telling Ardal about today's fighting, which I suspect doesn't interest him in the least." He gets up. "Sit here, Sibeal."

"They were saying Knut acquitted himself remarkably well," says Sibeal. "You must be pleased."

He grins widely. "I enjoyed those seven days' work, I can't deny it. Bran would have been amused if he could have seen it. He always said the peaceable healer was only a thin skin covering the man I once was. Not sure I agree, to tell the truth. I love the skill a man can put into play in a good fight, the speed and strength of it, the strategy beforehand and the instinct that comes in the heat of combat. But I've had my fill of bloodshed. Patching folk up suits me better than killing them these days. Must be getting old."

"Not old, just wise," Sibeal says.

"Did you rest well, Sibeal?" I ask, though I can see the answer is no.

She shivers. "I would say my dreams were unwelcome, but I expect there is some wisdom to be gleaned from them. They were dark and confused; it will take me time to work out their meaning. Did they bring Rodan's body back, Gull?"

Gull nods, somber now. "Johnny wanted me to ask you if you're sure about performing the rite tomorrow."

"Of course."

"For now," says Gull, "I'm under instructions to make sure you eat and drink. Biddy has something set aside for you."

"I'm really not hungry."

"The strictest of instructions, from your sisters. You need not walk down to the kitchen. I can fetch your supper for you." Gull glances at me. "Ardal wants to talk to you on your own. If you're agreeable to that, I'll take time for a drink and a chat with Biddy before I come back. If you're not agreeable, I'll put my head out the door and whistle someone up."

"Thank you, Gull. We'll be fine by ourselves." She's looking into the flames, her eyes suspiciously bright. Holding back tears? What was in those dreams?

We are silent awhile when Gull is gone. The fire flickers; the shadows move; the night wind rattles the shutters.

"What did you want to talk about?" she asks, her voice small and tight.

I expected her to seek explanations. Why did I warn her not to go out alone? Why would I take it upon myself to say such a thing? I have no good answer ready; I cannot tell her what Knut said. She would go straight to Johnny, and Johnny would confront Knut, and in one form or another, disaster would follow. Knut will stop at nothing to keep me from talking. Whatever lies behind this veil of forgetting, it must be powerful indeed. The only way I can keep Sibeal safe is by leaving Inis Eala. I am not strong enough yet, but Gull will help me. He trained Knut to expertise with the sword in seven days, after all. Surely he can train me to walk, to run, to be my own master again. Then I will go. I had planned to tell her I have decided this. Instead I say, "You talk, Sibeal. I will listen."

So she tells me: the vision she had of a falling man, seen over and over before it came true, and how she did not act until it was too late. She describes the dead man down on the rocks, his head broken open. She doubts that she should perform the burial rite, although she has already agreed, for she thinks perhaps she is not fitted for the calling of a druid after all. Inadequate. Confused. These are only some of the things she calls herself. I sit silent, listening.

"How can I do it?" Sibeal asks, not expecting an answer from me. "How can I go out there and speak prayers over the body of a man who, but for my lack of insight, might still be alive today? All I needed to do was talk to someone, describe the man in the vision, work out who he was and warn him. But my mind was on other things, and I didn't tell anyone. What would Ciaran think of me?" I see something remarkable: tears spilling from her eyes and flooding her pale cheeks. She seems unaware of them. "Ardal, I know the Sight does not always show the truth. It doesn't predict the future or reflect the past-it shows us images we can put together to make answers. You understand that, don't you? Oh, G.o.ds, now it sounds as if I'm making excuses . . . I can't get past the belief that this is my fault. That I was warned so I could stop it from happening and that I was too slow to act. What would Rodan's family think if they knew he would be laid to rest by the person who let him die? Why can't I get this right, Ardal, why?" She turns her br.i.m.m.i.n.g eyes on me, then buries her face in her hands.