Sevenwaters: Seer Of Sevenwaters Part 26

I rushed for the rail, scrabbling to climb up. If I jumped now I could save him, I had to, it wasn't too late, he couldn't die- A pair of hands closed around my arms, restraining me firmly but gently. "No, Sibeal," said Cathal. As I twisted and kicked and fought, shouting my rage, he held me firm all the way to sh.o.r.e.

I was on the beach. Liadan lay at anchor some little distance out in the water. Crewmen had conveyed me to sh.o.r.e in a small rowing boat. The pebbles were hard underneath me; the air was chill against my wet cheeks. I heard Gareth giving sharp orders, his tone forbidding comment. And someone was making a whimpering sound like the cry of a whipped dog. Maybe it was me. There was no druid here, no brave woman with the ear of the G.o.ds and a spirit honed to strength and wisdom by years of discipline. The last spark of that person had dwindled and died out there on the water. There was only a hollow where my heart had been ripped out. Cast away. Sunk deep as death.

"Sibeal?"

Cathal was crouching beside me, his tone unusually kindly. He put his hand on my shoulder.

"Don't touch me!" I shrank into myself, hugging my anguish close.

"Sibeal, we need your help. Take a deep breath and look at me. Sibeal, look at me."

"Go away."

A crunch as he settled on the stones beside me. A silence. Then he said, "Being leader of a mission means certain responsibilities. That includes making decisions on the instant. Sometimes those decisions seem wrong. If you're not a fighting man they may seem very wrong indeed. Sibeal, Gareth can't afford to lose any more men. If our numbers drop below a certain level we won't be able to get home. That could have been a trap, designed to draw one after another of us into the water in a vain rescue attempt. He had to do what he did." After a moment he added, "Both of them vanished the moment they went under the water. We could go out in the small boat. We could search until nightfall, putting ourselves in the perfect position to be snapped up by that creature. Chances are we'd still find no trace of them."

I tried to close my ears. Gull. Felix. Gone.

"Gareth's sending a search party along the sh.o.r.e, in case they've come in further up."

"And then he'll ask me to conduct a burial rite, I suppose." My voice was someone else's, someone bitter and furious.

"Sibeal, we haven't a lot of time. I want you to answer a question for me." When I made no reply, Cathal went ahead and asked it. "Why did we undertake this mission?"

Felix. My whole body ached with sorrow.

"Answer, Sibeal. Or do you lack the courage?"

I turned on him. "Courage? Don't talk to me about courage! There was only one man among all of you who had the courage to jump in after Gull, and that was a man who had more cause than anyone to be afraid of the water! Every night, when he closed his eyes, all he could see was the wave coming over and taking his brother! How dare you? How dare you talk to me about-"

The flow of words stopped. Now that I had lifted my head and opened my eyes, I saw orderly activity all around us: men bringing gear ash.o.r.e in the little boat, others pa.s.sing items hand to hand up the rocks to higher ground, Gareth and Sigurd scanning the hillsides and talking in low voices, a small group putting on packs and collecting spears from a stack of weaponry. And Svala, not prancing and singing and celebrating her return, but crouched up on the rocks as if waiting for something. She was looking directly at me. The waters of the bay were like fine gla.s.s under a clearing sky. The storm had pa.s.sed. "All right," I said. "We're here because Felix believed in his cause." I could hardly bring myself to speak his name. "Because he is-was-a good man, a brave man who knew he must do the right thing."

"Mm-hm."

"I can't believe he's gone, Cathal. And Gull . . . So quickly, like flames blown out in a draft. So quickly, as if they didn't even matter."

"I know." He bowed his head. I realized that he, too, was grieving, mourning the loss of a beloved old friend and a fine new one. Through the fog of my own sadness I recognized what he was trying to tell me. "We must find those men," I said. "Find them and bring them home. We owe it to Felix, and to Gull, to complete the mission."

Cathal nodded. "If we don't do it," he said, "then Felix's sacrifice was all for nothing." He rose to his feet and offered me his hand. I stood. My legs were shaking. We were soaked; our clothing hung around us, dripping. "We'll move up this slope to the shelter of those overhanging rocks, if shelter it can be called," he said. "Gareth's insisting on time for food and rest; the men are on their last legs. The only exception is the search party he's sending along the sh.o.r.e. When they get back, a group of us will head out to look for these survivors. Some must stay here to watch over the boat, and . . . " He glanced up toward the rocks where Svala was perched. "And her, I suppose. She's shown no sign of wanting to bolt off to wherever she was living before. Knut's still disturbed; he can't be sent out foraging. If he's to be left here with you and Svala, we need several men on guard."

Knut was sitting on the beach, a short distance away. He had a rope around one ankle, tethering him to a slab of rock. He was hunched over, a picture of misery, his arms around his knees, someone's cloak draped over his bent back. Two men stood at a little distance. One leaned casually on a spear; the other had knives at his belt.

"I'm not staying here," I said, trying to dry my eyes on my wet sleeve. "I'm coming with you to find those men. Since Felix can't do it, I must take his place." I recalled those first divinations, cast after the waves brought Felix to my doorstep. Had I put too much trust in Nyd-fort.i.tude beyond endurance? Had I placed undue emphasis on the beneficent power of Os? In Felix's own choice of runes, he had included Is. In tying that to his loss of memory, had I failed to consider that Is could also signify a disaster that came from nowhere? And if I had seen it coming, could I have changed the pattern of this? Could I have saved him?

"Sibeal," said Cathal.

I started, blinking. He'd been saying something and I had missed it completely. "What?"

"This could be difficult. Even Felix didn't know where those men were. Nor did Knut. All we have to go on is my vision, and the only thing that showed was a cave. It may be a lengthy search." He did not mention the monster, which, according to Felix's account, could go on both land and water.

"I'm coming with you."

Perhaps it was something in my stance, or in my eyes. Perhaps my brother-in-law thought anything was better than the whimpering wretch I had been not so long ago. I could not be that woman, not now. There was work to be done.

"So be it, then," Cathal said. "See if you can find yourself some dry clothing-Garbh and Rian are sorting out the things from the hold, over there on the rocks." He hesitated. "I think Svala wants to tell you something. Maybe she can help us. If she really does belong in this place, she should know the likeliest spot for folk to shelter in."

Rian and Garbh found me a shirt and a tunic that had missed the worst of the water, and I went behind a protrusion in the rocks to change. No spare skirt. I took mine off, wrung it out and put it back on again, shivering. When night came it would bring a cold to freeze the marrow. My stockings were soaking and filthy. I thrust my bare feet into my shoes. I rolled my wet things up. Coming back out, I almost crashed into Svala, who was standing with legs apart and arms folded, waiting for me. The stance was not encouraging, and nor was the tight set of her mouth. I put down the bundle and reached to take her hands, and I felt a trembling running through her. I closed my eyes, hoping that here, with open s.p.a.ce around us, her thoughts might come to me more clearly than on the boat. Was she scared? Angry? Cold? How could such wild elation be gone so quickly?

Don't reproach her, I told myself. They were not lost because of her. They weren't even lost because of the monster. For though I wanted someone to blame, I had seen that the creature's wild antics were no attempt to kill, only sheer exuberance. What had happened was mischance, no more. I breathed slowly; I made my mind open to Svala's thoughts.

A wild jumble of conflicting images poured in. She was bursting with what she felt, what she wanted, what she needed from me. Something about getting dressed, getting undressed . . . The creature, its tail splashing on the water's surface, the wave coming over . . . Now I was the one who was shaking. Her feelings welled into me, making me dizzy and nauseated. She was angry, scared, confused. She wanted . . . oh, she wanted, she needed . . . Where is it? Where has he hidden it? For a moment there was Knut in the image, and her hands ripping his talisman from his neck. Give it! Give it back! She pulled one hand from my grasp and thrust it down the neck of her gown, bringing out the twisted, fraying piece of cord she had taken from him. Her eyes were wild as she shook it in my face. This! This! Mine! The images in my mind were changing so fast that I could not understand any of them.

I couldn't do this. I was too weak to withstand it, too small to hold her powerful feelings as well as my own grief. I had no idea at all what she meant.

"I don't think I can help you any more, Svala," I whispered, releasing her hand. In the back of my mind were thoughts that shamed me: Why should I? You wouldn't help me. You stood there and let them drown. And now Felix is gone, and if you think you love this place, monster and all, it is nothing to how I feel!

As I moved away she made her chittering sound, and I turned my head to see her miming the same idea her thoughts had suggested: putting on clothing, perhaps a hooded cloak or similar all-enveloping garment. She smoothed the imaginary cloak down, swirled it around her, nodded. Now everything is all right. When the odd performance was done, she stretched out her hands toward me and made the noise again. Now it sounded as much threat as plea. She pointed to the water. Do as I ask, or I will make him come again with his sharp claws and his long teeth. Do it. Beyond her, out in the calm waters of the bay, I thought I saw something rise just above the surface, the sleek suggestion of a great body, the ripple of a long tail. I blinked and it was gone.

I turned away again and walked back toward the men. Oh, Ciaran, I thought, I need your wisdom now. But I am glad you are not here to see me come to this. And it seemed to me his voice murmured in my ear, wise and calm as always: In all experience, there is something to be learned. In deepest sorrow, wisdom is found. In the well of despair, hope rises.

Men slept, rolled in anything they could find that was tolerably dry. The rock shelf made a hard bed, but these warriors were used to taking their rest where and when it was offered, and they were bone weary. Those who were to form the rescue party were ordered to rest first, Cathal and me included. He lay down and closed his eyes, his dark cloak spread over him. Perhaps sleeping; more likely not. I knew I would not sleep.

Four men stood guard around us, three of them facing the bay with spears in hand. Gareth paced. I found I could not look at him. I saw the logic in what Cathal had told me, but I could not accept it. This was Gareth, Johnny's beloved, a man who always put others' needs before his own. A joker; an arbiter; a peacemaker. The captain who had ordered his crew not to save a comrade's life was worlds away from the man I knew. A familiar friend had, in an instant, become a stranger.

"Sibeal," Gareth said now, speaking in an undertone so as not to disturb the sleepers, "if you're going with Cathal, you must lie down and rest."

I ignored him, moving to sit a short distance away from the others. Further down on the rocks, Svala still crouched. She was humming a mournful little tune, over and over. I settled cross-legged, my hands palm upwards on my knees. I closed my eyes. Gareth said nothing more.

I needed all my strength to achieve a meditative trance. My body was tight with grief; sorrow was in every part of me. It beat in my heart and ran in my veins. In my mind, over and over, Felix dived off the boat, graceful as a swallow, and vanished under the water. I called upon my training. I called upon the discipline that had been so hard-won. I breathed. I banished my tears. I thought of Ciaran's wise eyes, his measured voice, his rea.s.suring presence. And of Finbar, long gone but still present in spirit, a power for good. After a long time, when at last I was ready, I prayed. Help me be strong enough. Help me survive this. And then the hard part. Lead them kindly on their journey, guardian of the great gateway. They were fine men, the two of them. Gull, warrior and healer, beloved of his family, a friend of utmost loyalty, a lamp of goodness to all who knew him. And Felix . . . Breathe, breathe . . . And Felix, so strong in heart, so gentle yet so brave . . . Morrigan, I pa.s.s him over to you. But oh, if his hand were still in mine I would fight to keep him, I would fight like a she-wolf to win him another chance. Manannan, you took him too soon. Surely it was not his time. Despite my best efforts, a tear spilled.

It had been so long since the G.o.ds had granted me answers that I was shocked when a voice spoke in my mind, a voice as powerful as a thundering waterfall and as quiet as a sleeping child. Would you challenge the G.o.ds, Sibeal?

Why would it be the G.o.ds' will that Felix should die before he completed his quest? If it were possible for the mind's speech to be brittle with fury, mine surely was. The runes said he could do it! They spoke of a mission fulfilled! If I had known, I'd never have encouraged him to undertake the voyage, never!

The mission can still be fulfilled.

I was supposed to go on and rescue the survivors without Felix. Well, I was doing that. As soon as the rest period was over, we'd be setting off.

He was never for you, said the voice. You are promised to the service of the G.o.ds, Sibeal. Your destiny is a higher one than his could ever be. You know this.

I let the words sink inside me, reminding me of what I had long known to be true. This knowledge had guided my steps since I was a small child. Was this the G.o.ds' answer to the question, why? Why was he taken from me? Because he did not fit into the picture. Because he was a complication.

"Oh, no," I breathed. "No! That's wrong! It's more wrong than I can say! To sacrifice him so you can secure my loyalty . . . I will not stand for that!" Ciaran would have been appalled; to address the G.o.ds thus was akin to putting one's neck on a chopping block. I did not care. "If this is what being a druid requires, then I renounce that life! I am not yet sworn to it." I was shivering, shocked, held halfway between the calm of the trance and furious recognition of a betrayal that set my deepest convictions on their heads.

Did not you once promise you would do anything, anything at all, if he could survive?

"But he didn't survive," I muttered aloud. "He wasn't even allowed to live for long enough to find his friends and make good his promise to his brother. Don't toy with me-this is cruel."

Wait, Sibeal. The voice was calm and grave. Beyond being offended by my disrespect; beyond caring about something as trivial as human love. Only wait.

"Sibeal? Are you all right?"

My eyes sprang open at the sound of a real voice. Cathal had come over to sit a short distance away. His dark eyes were full of concern.

Still caught in the trance, I could not answer. I shook my head, then closed my eyes and fought to recapture the pattern of my breathing. I must quiet the storm of feelings that had no place in a meditative mind. I must let it go. I must let him go. I must . . .

"I can't," I said, opening my eyes again. "I can't accept this. Cathal, we should go now. Now, right away." I tried to get to my feet, but my head reeled and I sank back down again. "Danu preserve me," I muttered. "I'm as weak as a newborn lamb."

"Did you eat?"

"I wasn't hungry." While the men had downed their hard bread and dried meat I had sat apart. It had occurred to me that I might never want to eat again.

Cathal went off then, while I continued to stare out over the water. I had never challenged the G.o.ds before. I had never refused their counsel. I felt as if I were standing on the edge of a cliff, looking down into a vast empty s.p.a.ce that was my future.

"Here." Cathal was back, bearing a cup of water, a smallish lump of the rock-hard bread, a piece of cheese. "It may be a long climb. It will surely be taxing and dangerous. Even the most spiritual of folk can't undertake such a challenge on an empty stomach. Come on, Sibeal. I'll break it into mouthfuls for you."

His kindness disarmed me, and I found myself accepting each small piece as he pa.s.sed it over, and managing to chew and swallow.

"You must be missing Clodagh," I said quietly.

A curt nod. After a moment he said, "More than I can possibly tell you."

"You don't say, 'more than you could understand,' as Clodagh might. She was quick to challenge me when I told her the life of the spirit was higher and better than the life of the flesh, marriage and children, family and home hearth."

Cathal dipped a piece of bread into the water and pa.s.sed it to me. "Today, I know you can understand," he said. "I'm sorry, Sibeal. We're all sorry, even if we don't speak of it. On a mission there's no time to grieve. We lay our fallen to rest with what respect we can manage, then we put our feelings away inside and get on with what must be done. When we return home, our wives and mothers do their best to pick up the pieces."

"They can't be laid to rest," I said, my throat choked with tears. "They're out there somewhere, floating with the weeds and the fish, eyes open on nothing, just like most of Freyja's crew."

"And I wonder," Cathal said, "whose hand is behind it?"

I swallowed the last mouthful of bread, then took a sip of water. I did feel slightly better. "The G.o.ds told me to wait," I said. "For what, I don't know. But I can't wait. It's like that day when I was drawn to the little cove to find Felix. And the day when I was too late to save Rodan from falling to his death. I feel a pull, a need to go. How long before the men are sufficiently rested?"

"You were sitting there a considerable while. We can leave soon, I think." His gaze had moved to the sh.o.r.e, where the party that had gone along the water's edge could be seen returning, spears in hand. If they had found drowned men, they were not bringing them back. "He'll rest those fellows next. We must leave soon or we risk being caught up among the crags after nightfall." He glanced skyward. "We're far north. At this time of year we won't have true dark, but the place is full of pitfalls. We'd be fools to climb in the half-light. And if we find these fellows, we may have to carry them back."

"Cathal," I said.

"Mm?"

"Thank you."

"Any time. I'll have a word with Gareth, see if we can move things along." He hesitated. "Felix was a fine man, Sibeal. Some time, you'll want your moment to scream and shout and cry your rage to the sky. It's hard to hold it all in. Even if you're a druid, I suppose."

"I thought I could. I thought I could deal with anything."

"n.o.body's as strong as that," he said.

And then we were walking, climbing, edging our way across precipitous slopes, traversing cracks that opened on subterranean shadow, scrambling up small mountains of broken boulders. Following instinct; my instinct. n.o.body knew where to go. Felix had stayed on Freyja for his whole visit to the serpent isle, tending to a sick man. Knut had been on the sh.o.r.e, close to the point where they'd beached the vessel; he had seen only the general direction in which Paul's party had first headed, and that was the path we took now.

I'd intended to try once more with Svala, in the hope that she might tell us where to search. But the look on her face had warned me not to come close. She was angry, frustrated, poised on the verge of some violent action, I was sure of it. I need not touch her to feel it. Her urgency was twin to mine, but without a better understanding I could not help her.

We were a party of eight. If there were indeed three survivors, as Cathal's vision had indicated, and if none was fit enough to return on foot, we would leave some men there and come back for help. Gareth had not been prepared to send more than eight, and I understood his reasons. The group that stayed behind must keep watch not only over Liadan but also over the unpredictable Svala and the white-faced, shivering, tethered Knut.

Besides, the monster was still out there in the waters of the bay. From time to time it rose just enough to reveal a glint of brilliant scales, the curve of its back, the claws of one great forelimb before it sank again beneath the water. Waiting. Svala and the creature were both waiting. Now that I had challenged the G.o.ds, now that I had, more or less, told them I was disappointed in them, perhaps I would never again have the ability to read Svala's thoughts. Perhaps I would never find out what she had lost and so desperately wanted back. What might she do if she believed I had failed her? Beneath my sorrow, my shock, my need to get the mission done, fear lay like a cold hard stone.

The pace was fast, even when adjusted to accommodate my shorter legs. Cathal led the party. Sigurd was the only other among our number whom I knew at all well. n.o.body wasted time on talk. The men advanced, grim-faced, getting on with the job that had to be done. All were armed. I had seen Svala looking at the axes and cudgels and knives. Her eyes had narrowed as the other party came back along the sh.o.r.e with spears in hand, spears that would have been used against the serpent had it struck. It seemed to me fighting a creature of such size would be entirely futile. Still, I understood why they would try. In that moment at Liadan's rail, I would have leapt in to save Felix, even though I knew I was not strong enough to rescue him, or even to survive the attempt. Sometimes the only choice was to fight.

Time pa.s.sed. Liadan and her crew had long ago dropped out of our sight, and we were moving along a ridge high above the bay. At a certain point Cathal called a halt and ordered us to rest our legs. A water skin was pa.s.sed around, and I drank gratefully of its brackish contents. Sigurd and Cathal were talking together, scanning the island all around, looking for possible paths through terrain that seemed devoid of any softness, for it was all rock and scree, with not a sc.r.a.p of green.

"Sibeal?" Cathal lifted his brows. "There's no sign of a path. Whatever we decide, the going will be at snail's pace, and the day is pa.s.sing. What do your instincts tell you?"

I stood up to get a good look around. My instincts were pulling me in the least likely direction, toward a set of tower-like pinnacles surmounting a vertiginous rock stack to the west. On this unlikely castle roosted many birds. The air above it was alive with wheeling shapes. From where we stood we could not see the stack's base, only its jagged crown.

"There," I said.

"You're joking." Sigurd looked at the place, looked at me again. "You're serious."

"It's a fair distance," Cathal observed. "Are you sure, Sibeal? I'd judge we've barely time to get there and back before it's too dark. Wouldn't it make more sense to continue in this direction, following the natural curve of the bay?"

"I think we should go that way." The feeling inside me was powerful, drawing me westward. Nearly there, Felix. We'll find them for you.

"Very well," said Cathal. "Men!"

A few of them glanced at me when he explained where we were going; it did indeed seem the least promising direction to take. But they were professionals, and within a short time we were making a cautious way toward the place. My feet hurt, and I wished I had kept my stockings on. I could feel blisters forming. The closer we came to the cliffs, the more uneven was the ground. It was all too easy to imagine cracks opening under our feet, or slabs of solid rock shearing off to crumble into the sea far below. As we came down from our vantage point the rock stack was less visible, its oddly pointed peak often the only part showing above the cliff edge. Gulls screamed in the air above us, perhaps warning us away from their nests.

And yet, in its starkness, its myriad shades of gray on gray, the place was beautiful. Here, sky met sea as if the two were one. Here, where all was harsh and clean and barren, there was a curious peace. It was a hermit's place, a place of prayer, a place of deep and eternal power. Beneath my feet I sensed the heartbeat of an ancient G.o.d. I glanced at Cathal, who was walking beside me, and when he looked back I saw the same awareness in his eyes. I remembered that he was descended from the Sea People.

A long walk, and difficult. Nearer the cliffs, the ground was broken by jagged holes that opened to a subterranean realm of cavern and tunnel, a nightmare honeycomb. Here, for the first time on the island, we saw lichens and mosses growing on the rocks, tiny, creeping things that clung and cowered under the force of the elements. The wind had turned to a vigorous westerly that whipped color into our faces and robbed us of breath. We came down a pockmarked slope and saw another first: some yards to the north of us, a deep ravine split the rocks. Down the inmost face of this chasm splashed a delicate waterfall. We could not see its source, likely a spring higher up the hillside, but along its channel small plants grew, making a startling ribbon of green in the relentless gray. Birds chirped and hopped and danced above this watercourse, not the gulls and gannets and great sea birds we had seen elsewhere, but smaller ones, some no larger than a wren. I wondered at their survival in this far-off place. They must be under the protection of a benign spirit.

"Your instincts are sound, Sibeal," Cathal said. "This may be the only source of fresh water on the island. And we've seen already that there are caves, unwelcoming as they appear. If those men are still alive, this does seem a likely area."

"It's far from the landing place," observed Sigurd. "If they came all the way over here, they cannot have been in much hope of prompt rescue."

We fell silent. Perhaps, I thought, they had been in no hope at all. But how could a man survive without hope?

"Perhaps we should call," one of the crewmen, Oschu, suggested. "That's if you really believe they might be here somewhere."

"It can't hurt," Cathal said. "Sibeal, do you still want to go toward the rock stack? That would take us perilously close to the edge of the cliffs. Why don't we head for the stream? Maybe there's a way down through that ravine, and we can at least refill our water skins."

I nodded. The compulsion that had drawn me westward was gone. Either I'd been wrong, or we had come far enough already.

We reached the lip of the chasm and gathered on a patch of level ground. It was possible to see, just, how a man might make his way down to a lower point, if not right to the foot. The ravine was so narrow and uneven that I could not see the point where it opened to the sea. But there could be no benign anchorage down below, only a storm-battered cliff face and a ledge or two where seals might s.n.a.t.c.h brief rest.

Higher up the abyss, where the blanket of green foliage softened the stones, there were hollows in the rock face. They were too small to be called caves; I saw none big enough to provide good shelter even for one man. All the same, in storm and cold I would far rather be here than in the bay or out on the hillside. There was an odd charm about this place. It was as if a G.o.ddess with a warm heart had laid her hand on this one corner of the stark isle. After that, no doubt she had departed for gentler climes.

"Anyone there?" shouted Sigurd, startling me so badly that I nearly fell. "Hallooo!" Then he called something in Norse.

His ringing voice started up a chorus of echoes. A small army of birds flew upward, then settled again, only to be shaken anew by Cathal's cry: "Men from the Freyja! Where are you? Call out to us, comrades!"

The echoes died away. There was only the washing of the waves, the sighing of the west wind, the peeping cries of the birds. And . . .