Sevenwaters: Seer Of Sevenwaters Part 3

"You know nothing at all of this man's purpose, or that of his two fellow travelers?" Johnny asked Knut. "Where did they embark?"

"Ulfricsfjord."

I had never heard of such a place, but Johnny said, "That's the Norse name for Goosefeather Bay, north of Dublin. Knut, the trade route from the east coast of Erin to the Orcades would surely take you close to the sh.o.r.e of Dalriada. Inis Eala is far to the west of your natural course."

"That is so, yes. But a strange wind caught Freyja, driving us westward. There was no fighting it, though we rowed until our backs were breaking."

"Freyja," echoed Evan. "So your ship was named for the Norse G.o.ddess of spring."

"A fine vessel. A grievous loss." Knut was keeping his shoulders square and his chin up, but his tone was uneven as he spoke. Kalev translated quietly. "I hope you can save this man's life. I will come to see him every day. When he returns to himself, when he wishes to tell his tale, a familiar face may help him."

In view of the fact that Knut did not even know the other man's name, that sounded a little odd to me, but I made no comment. They had been through a nightmare together, the survivors and the fallen. If Knut was not making perfect sense, there was good reason for it.

"We'll speak more of this later," Johnny said. "Now you should go back to your wife. Thank you for helping us here." He glanced at the man on the pallet, and I thought he saw what I did: a person who was doing an excellent job of feigning sleep. "Just one thing," he added. "Do you know if this man understands Irish? Is he a Norseman?"

"Foreign," Knut said. "He knows some Norse. More, I cannot tell you. He has not spoken at all?"

"Nothing," Muirrin said.

"When he wakes, he will be confused." Knut was studying the survivor's features more closely. Perhaps he, too, had realized by now that the man was not sleeping. "Everything muddled, dreams and truth mixed, like a stew of many kinds of meat."

Muirrin gave a crooked smile. "I'll be happy if he speaks at all." She hastened to add, "I'm sorry, I meant no disrespect to your wife, Knut. I know she is mute and cannot talk to us."

"Mute, yes. And disturbed. I will go to her now. I thank you all again."

"Kalev will take you back to the sleeping quarters," Johnny said. "Rest well. Be a.s.sured this man has excellent care. If anyone can pull him through this, it's our healers."

The door closed behind Kalev and the Norseman. Johnny sat down by the sick man and addressed him quietly, in Irish, giving a brief explanation of where he was, telling him he would be safe, rea.s.suring him that we meant him no harm. My cousin then repeated it in what sounded to my untutored ear like very pa.s.sable Norse. Perhaps the presence of Kalev as interpreter had been unnecessary. This was not entirely surprising; it could be to a leader's advantage not to reveal just how much he knew of another tongue. Johnny sat on in silence for a little, while I drank my herbal draft and the others completed their packing up for the day. I noticed that the sick man had his eyes open again, and was watching Johnny with something of the same wary look he had turned on me. Just before my cousin rose, the little dog pattered across and launched herself in a wild leap for the pallet. She scrabbled up, circled a few times and settled by the invalid's side.

"She'll help keep him warm," Gull commented. "Pity we don't have a bigger dog. Evan, you and Muirrin may as well be off to bed. Sibeal and I can cope here. Johnny, with these Connacht men due any day, we'll need to talk further."

"Mm." My cousin was suddenly serious. "This has created a few more complications than I'd like, certainly. But it can wait until after the burial rite. Knut's account was somewhat sketchy. Maybe, given time, he'll be able to tell us more."

"Connacht men?" I asked.

"We've a group due to arrive for training," said Johnny. "Our unexpected visitors make that a little more difficult than it might be, but you need not concern yourself about it, Sibeal." He smiled. "We ask a great deal of you, don't we? A heroic rescue one day, a burial rite the next. It's too easy to forget how young you are."

"If my skills are needed here, I should use them," I said.

"Not what Ciaran had in mind when he sent you to Inis Eala, I'm certain, but undoubtedly fortunate for this man," Johnny said. "Now I'll bid you good night. Muirrin, Evan, will you walk back down with me?"

The infirmary hushed, save for the survivor's labored breathing. Gull lit another lamp, then came to sit on the opposite side of the pallet. The sick man lay still, his eyes once more closed. Perhaps he really was asleep now.

"You did a brave thing," Gull said quietly. "You remind me of your aunt Liadan. Not a trace of fear in you. Just the will to do what must be done."

I smiled. "I'm not sure I was brave. To tell you the truth, I was hardly even thinking at the time. It didn't feel like a choice."

"You've saved this man's life. And risked your own in the process."

"Just as you risked yours saving Bran, long ago," I said, remembering the epic story of Bran's rescue by two unlikely heroes: the slightly built Liadan and Gull with his maimed hands in blood-soaked bandages.

"Mm," Gull said. "You're right; under such circ.u.mstances a man doesn't think beyond the next step. You simply keep going until you reach the end. I had good reason for it, of course. My own life was in danger; Liadan and Johnny were at risk. And Bran was my friend. This man is a complete stranger."

I considered this. "I knew he was down there before I saw him," I said eventually. "It's part of my seer's gift, both curse and blessing. It comes out of the blue: a s.n.a.t.c.h of sensation, a thought or feeling, a half-glimpsed vision. Most often there's nothing I can do about it, because it's gone before I've had time to work out what it means. But I felt his presence; something led me to that place."

Gull thought about this for a while. "If you believe you were led to find him," he said, "does that mean he's going to survive this?"

"I hope so. Muirrin didn't sound confident of his chances. What do you think?"

"It's too early to say. I don't like that whistle in his breathing. Still, he's got some fort.i.tude. Must have swum at least part of the way. Cu Chulainn himself couldn't survive being unconscious in the water so long. You're right about those blisters, Sibeal-his hands look painful. That may be a small problem alongside his other ailments, but it's one I can do something about. I have a salve. I'll get it out now . . . "

As soon as Gull had risen and moved away, the man opened his eyes. If he had seemed wary before, now he might have been looking into a bottomless abyss. It disconcerted me to think I might inspire such disquiet. I was not even wearing my druid's robe, only my gown and shawl with my damp hair over my shoulders.

"Gull, he's awake," I said. "Should I offer him water?"

But before Gull could answer, the heavy lids had closed again. Fang got to her feet, turned around three times on the blankets and with a sigh settled once more.

Gull tended to the sick man's blisters, his own disfigured hands gentle and sure. We kept vigil awhile, not saying much. It was good to sit quietly in the warm light of fire and lamp, letting the grim sounds and somber sights of the day settle in our minds. I had thought perhaps the whole community might be abed, but a little later Clodagh came in, with Cathal following.

"Still up, Sibeal?" It was plain that this was what my sister had expected, and the reason she had come. "Off to bed with you-go on. We'll keep Gull company awhile. Druid you may be, and hero as well, but you need your sleep."

Whether it was the draft Gull had given me or simple exhaustion catching up with me at last, I decided not to argue the point, though it seemed to me my sister, so close to her confinement time, must need rest more than I did. Cathal's presence rea.s.sured me. He would make sure Clodagh did not sit up too late. I bade them all good night and retreated to my little chamber, where a cold draft was whistling in under the door. As I slipped under the blankets, I wished there was more than one dog on the island.

Next morning, the wind turned to a scourging gale. The gray sea was churned to whitecaps and clouds blotted out the sun. Preparation of the grave site continued under the lowering sky, with men going out in teams and returning periodically to stand shivering by the kitchen fire, chilled hands wrapped around pannikins of Biddy's vegetable soup. I spent much of the day in my chamber, preparing myself for the ceremony. In the infirmary an orderly pattern of work continued, Muirrin tending to various folk who came in and out, with Clodagh's occasional help, while Gull and Evan took turns to watch over the man I had rescued. I took a shift when the others went to eat. If anything, the man looked worse. His skin was a disturbing shade of gray, and when his eyes were open there was a glazed look about them, as if he did not really see me. I held his hand and murmured prayers.

Some time later, while I sat quietly in my chamber planning the words for the ritual I would conduct at dusk, I heard Muirrin and Evan talking in the main part of the infirmary.

"Look at this. His water's as dark as oak wood."

"He's been in the sea a long time," Evan said. "That plays havoc with a man's insides. I have to say . . . " His voice fell to a murmur.

"Perhaps it's best if Sibeal doesn't know that," my sister said, at which moment I entered the infirmary proper.

"Doesn't know what?" I asked.

"You'll be upset," said Muirrin.

"I would be more upset if I thought something was being kept from me," I said. Perhaps I sounded more druid than sister, for she explained it in full as she would to a fellow healer. After long immersion in water and exposure to cold, sometimes the body lost the ability to perform certain vital tasks. The dark urine was an ominous sign. Other symptoms might follow: a failure to pa.s.s water for days, causing ill humors to build up. Or the opposite: a sudden flood, leaving the person drained and weak.

"Is there a remedy?" I asked. She'd been right; I was upset.

"Nothing we can be sure will work," Muirrin said bluntly. "Gull may know more."

After that, I stayed where I could see the sick man. Perhaps, while I watched over him and willed him to live, Morrigan would not come for him. But that was foolish; neither druid nor warrior, king nor sage had the power to cheat the G.o.ds. I was relieved when Gull came in, for his strong, quiet presence calmed me.

"Keep giving him water," he said when Muirrin explained the problem. "And vegetables. Beans, carrot, beet, turnip, whatever we have in store or in the garden. Biddy can make a soup, everything mashed up, easy to swallow."

"Just vegetables?" Muirrin sounded sceptical.

"I've seen it work before," Gull said, and my heart lifted. "It takes some time. The trick is keeping him alive until his innards start doing their job again. One of us will need to be here, making sure he's warm, seeing that he's propped up and can breathe, keeping his spirits up. You might help with that, Sibeal. Druids are full of good stories. A few of those wouldn't go amiss."

"I'll be happy to help," I told him, astonished by the way his practical speech had buoyed my spirits.

"I'd like to hear his story," Gull said. "This fellow's. Johnny has a party of folk out searching the coves around the island, seeing what might be washed up, and some of the things they're bringing in are a bit of a surprise."

"What things?" Muirrin asked.

"Costly things. An oak box with metal bands around it; a book with a jeweled cover; lengths of fabric, perhaps silk. Ruined now, of course. Makes me wonder if someone was bearing gifts. Maybe there was a party of emissaries on board. Sounds as if Knut doesn't know much."

"There were three men he couldn't name," I said. "This one and two of the dead."

"Ah well, the full tale will come out in time, I suppose," Gull said, stifling a yawn. "Poor fellow. Knut, I mean. As for his wife, she seems half-destroyed by grief. Biddy said n.o.body in the married quarters got much rest last night, with Svala's crying. Makes the prospect of sleeping up here for a while almost enticing."

By day's end the wind had died down, but the sea washed in with relentless ferocity, carving out the cliffs, sc.r.a.ping away the pebbly beaches, reminding us of the power that had taken so many lives in a heartbeat. The clouds hung above, ma.s.sy and dark as the sun sank lower. Johnny had decided we would not wait for the late summer dusk, but would conduct the ceremony as soon as all was prepared.

Torches had been set around the chosen area, where a boat-shaped hollow had been dug out, marked with a double line of stones. We formed a solemn procession. First walked two of the tallest men on the island, one bearing a sword and shield, the other a spear. Behind them followed the fallen, each carried on a stretcher by two of Johnny's warriors. I came next in my hooded robe. I had plaited my hair and pinned it up, and in my hands I carried a shallow bowl containing herbs to be burned on the brazier we had placed by the burial site. The men and women of the island followed me. I had thought Svala might not come, but there she was, walking beside her husband, her golden hair loose, her lovely eyes quite blank.

Gull had stayed in the infirmary and one or two folk were tending to stock or infants, but almost the entire island community stood hushed around the burial site. The dead were laid in two rows, and the warriors who had led the procession placed spear, shield and sword down between the fallen. Knut had explained to us that a Norseman is laid to rest with his weapons by his side, as a recognition of his manhood-a fighting man, in particular, needed to go armed into the afterlife. As the sea had taken all these men had, the Inis Eala community had provided these shared items.

Now I stepped forward to scatter my herbs into the fire and begin my prayers. I did not perform a full druidic ritual, but tried to convey with simple words and gestures a wish that the G.o.ds, whichever of them looked kindly on us at this moment, would usher the drowned sailors safely to whatever awaited them next. The Norse, as I understood it, believed that men who died bravely in battle were elevated to the realm of the immortals, where they would feast eternally by the side of their warrior deity. Possibly the same fate was expected for a ship's crew fallen foul of wind and waves. It was a different belief from our own, but one that should nonetheless be respected.

Muirrin walked between the dead with a bowl of water and sprinkled droplets, and Brenna carried aromatic crushed leaves to strew. Johnny spoke about the bravery that took men far from their home sh.o.r.es in search of new opportunities, and how risks were part of being a man, and part of living a life well and fully.

When he was done, I moved between the dead, kneeling by each in turn to lay my hand on his brow, and although all I said was the name, in my spirit I called upon my own G.o.ds, the old, good G.o.ds, to ferry the departed gently on their last and most mysterious voyage.

"Thorolf Magnusson, and Ranulf his brother." Three paces. "Svein Njalsson." And the next. "Mord Asgrimsson." Dead; dead and cold. I wondered if he had a wife somewhere, keeping the hearth fire alight for his return. "Starkad Thorkelsson." So young; he had hardly begun to be a man. "Sam Gundarsson." I walked on to the gray-bearded man. "And this elder, whose name we do not know." A few steps more. "And this young man, who died before his time." Who died with blistered hands. "We honor them. The blessing of the G.o.ds be on them, and on every man, woman and child who perished when Freyja foundered here. For those who lie here now, and for those at rest in the deep, we speak the same prayer. May their spirits fly with the winds; may their souls be cradled in the waves; may their lives be celebrated in fine tales around the fire. May their love of family and land, of hearthstone and chieftain, of clan and kin, stay strong in their children and their children's children."

Knut's face looked hard as stone. By his side, Svala stood dry-eyed, staring straight ahead. Kalev translated for them in a murmur.

I had spoken to Knut about the next part, but it was still hard to get the words out, with the two of them right there in the circle. I cleared my throat.

"I say a special prayer for the little ones who perished. In particular, for Svein Knutsson, child of our new friends here." Tears had begun to flow down Knut's face, a stream over granite. Svala's expression showed not a flicker of change, though she must have heard me speak her son's name. "He was taken early by the G.o.ds, and is now at peace with his forebears in the place beyond death. Pray for him, and for all those lost here."

After a few moments I stepped back outside the shape of stones, and so did Muirrin and Brenna. The men who had been digging earlier took up their spades to lay the last blanket of earth over these sleepers. An eerie silence hung in the air, broken only by the whimpering of a child whose mother hushed it against her shoulder.

"Now, Sibeal?" Johnny asked quietly.

I nodded. The spades rose and fell; the earth pattered softly down, a dark rain on the shrouds of the dead. Fitful torchlight played on the circle of somber, watching faces.

It happened in a flash. One moment I was standing there, the next I was sprawled facedown on the ground, knocked off balance as Svala hurled herself forward. As I struggled to sit up she seized my shoulders, shaking me so hard my teeth rattled. A scream burst from her, high, ululating. Then Knut was dragging her off me, pulling her away, while Johnny and Cathal came to help me up.

"Are you hurt, Sibeal?"

"I'm . . . I'm fine. She took me by surprise. We must continue with the ritual, Johnny." I looked past him. There were Muirrin and Clodagh, looking somewhat paler than usual. And there was Knut, holding Svala by both arms, speaking to her in a low voice. Her chest heaved, but she was silent now. She did not meet his stern gaze; her beautiful eyes were turned on the ground.

"She was overcome by grief, I suppose," Johnny said in an undertone. "And better to release that grief than keep it locked inside. But that's no excuse for an act of violence."

It was not sorrow I had felt in the grip of her strong hands. What I had sensed was a cry for help.

"Are you sure you can continue with this, Sibeal?"

"Of course." I was still working on my breathing. "We need a final blessing, that's all. It would be right for you to say that, as leader of the community." The ritual must not end on a note of violence and discord. The G.o.ds would be deeply displeased, and the spirits of the dead would journey under a shadow.

My cousin stepped forward, a somber figure in his dark tunic, the raven markings on his cheek and brow brought to eerie life by the shifting torchlight. The sky was fading to dusk. "The G.o.ds speed you on your journey," he said quietly. "We honor your endeavors. We salute your courage. We offer our prayers for your pa.s.sage to the next world. Let your memory be held in every stone of this island. Let your songs be whispered on the wind. May the tongues of bards tell your tales until the end of time."

The spades rose and fell once more. After some time, a time silent save for the thud of metal on earth and the soft descent of the soil, the hollow became a mound. Stones would be placed here to hold it firm; this boat would hold a true course to the northeast, toward these seafarers' ancestral home. In time, the vessel would bear a shivering shroud of gra.s.s.

Dusk blanketed the island. As we headed back toward the settlement and a warm fire, the rain descended in sudden sheets, drenching every man and woman among us, turning the paths to quagmires and filling each hollow with a slate-dark pool. The torches fizzled and died. Behind us the burial mound stood quiet in the fading light. The ritual was complete.

I was too tired to go to supper in the dining hall, but too unsettled to think of sleep. In the infirmary, Muirrin tended to my bruises and Clodagh brought me food and drink. Folk came and went. I heard from Evan that Knut and Svala had been offered the fisherman's hut down by the main cove, away from the rest of the community, and that Knut had accepted gladly. Svala had not appeared at supper time, Evan said, but Knut had come to the dining hall and had gone around the tables with Kalev, personally thanking every member of the community for the kindness shown to him and his wife.

Later, when Evan and Muirrin had gone to bed and I was sitting by the sick man's pallet deep in thought while Gull pottered at the workbench, Johnny came in. He nodded to Gull, then came over to me.

"How are you feeling, Sibeal? That was . . . unsettling."

"I have a bruise or two on top of the ones I got yesterday, but nothing serious."

"You did a fine job. To stay so calm, to finish the ritual . . . Ciaran would be proud of you." Johnny sat down opposite me. I felt his scrutiny. He was doing what he did so well, taking in what lay below the surface.

"Mm." I knew exactly what Ciaran would say if he were here. What might you have done differently, Sibeal? What learning can be gleaned from this? A druid was always learning. One sought wisdom in all that occurred, whether planned or unplanned. Right now, I was not feeling very wise. I was feeling exhausted, out of my depth and on the verge of tears. Svala needed help. She was trying to tell me so, or thus it seemed. But she had attacked me with some violence, when I was doing my best to conduct a solemn ritual in which I honored her dead son. Why would she do that? Was I wrong about that plea for help? Perhaps she was completely out of her mind, and unreachable. "I hope the G.o.ds looked kindly on us. Svala's grief has shattered her, I know that. But those men deserved better. I should have antic.i.p.ated that she might act wildly and taken steps to prevent it."

"Sibeal, look at me."

I looked. It seemed an immense effort.

"You were exhausted and upset. Evan told me the man you rescued may not survive, and I can imagine your feelings on that. Yet you undertook this duty for us. After Svala's outburst you picked yourself up and we finished it. You did a good job."

I was reluctant to tell him that what had caused my collapse was more than simple weariness. The flaw that had made Ciaran send me away, the open window I seemed to have in me to the fears and sorrows of others, had never been more evident than today. To speak of it was to admit to a weakness that few knew about.

"I hope Svala can recover, given time."

"Time," echoed Johnny. "That's just what we don't have, unfortunately, with these men from Connacht due soon."

"Why does that make a difference?"

"Secrets," put in Gull from where he was chopping something at the bench. "n.o.body comes to Inis Eala without prior arrangement. We're more accustomed to welcoming parties of warriors than hapless seafarers. When we have men here for training, we take precautions to ensure they learn only what we want to teach them."

"I understand that." Ever since Bran's time, they had taught not only methods of fighting, the construction of weapons and battle tactics, but many other skills a leader could put into use to maintain the advantage: mapmaking, for instance, and covert surveillance and codes. What had made Bran's outlaw band feared and envied throughout the north of Erin now made Inis Eala much sought after as a training ground for elite warriors. "What has that to do with Knut and Svala? And him?" The man on the pallet was asleep, his heavy lids closed, his face a study in white and gray.

"We know very little about them, Sibeal," Johnny said. "It seems Knut was happy to offer his services as an oarsman, and took no interest in who owned the ship or why certain folk were traveling on her. He can't even give me a name in Ulfricsfjord so I know where to send my message. My inclination would be to dispatch him and his wife, along with this fellow, over to the mainland before our visitors arrive. My people in the settlement there could arrange pa.s.sage home for them. But even if this man survives, Muirrin tells me he won't be fit to travel for a long while. And Svala clearly can't go anywhere. We'll have to keep them for some time."

"I don't imagine any one of them is a spy," I said, wondering if that was what he meant, "or they would have arrived by less dramatic means."

"No, I imagine not. But while they're here, we'll have to keep an eye on them. And with this man needing so much care, our healers are going to be very busy. When we're conducting training, there are always injuries."

"I'll help, of course," I said.

"Good," Johnny said. "Sibeal, I sense you didn't give much credence to what I said before. You shouldn't let what happened at the burial weigh on your mind. I never lie to my men about their performance in the field, and I wouldn't lie to you. When I tell you that you completed your task well, you should believe me."