Seer of Sevenwaters Page 13

  Cathal unfolded his long frame from his seat and stood to face the Norseman. “Then you don’t want me,” he said. “Johnny is my superior with the sword, whether it’s the old broadsword or the new weapon. And I don’t suppose you have the gall to challenge him.”

  There was a little silence, broken only by Jouko’s murmured translation.

  “Me, you. Good fight.” Knut’s gaze met Cathal’s, blue eyes fiercely intent, black ones, if anything, mildly amused. Among the men there was a stirring, a whispering, as everyone waited for Johnny’s response.

  “Your request will be given consideration, Knut.” Johnny’s tone was calm as always. “As Rat explained, the bouts are intended as part of our visitors’ training, and to keep our men’s skills sharp. If you and your wife are still here on the island in seven days, and if Rat judges it wise to allow you the use of one of Sam’s blades in the meantime, you may get a chance to prove yourself.”

  If this was intended as a not-too-subtle suggestion that Knut had bitten off more than any man could chew, it was lost on the Norseman. “I fight. You give me sword, I show.”

  “There’s no doubting your courage,” Johnny said, giving him a look that was impossible to read. “Any other questions?”

  “Come on, Sibeal.” Clodagh grabbed my sleeve and headed toward the gate. No sign of Svala; she had already left. Perhaps Knut’s behavior was as embarrassing to her as hers was to him.

  At breakfast Cathal had asked me to make sure Clodagh rested in the afternoon. After a bite to eat, she and I went to the married quarters, where I sat by her bedside and told stories until she fell asleep, blanket tucked over her expanding form. With her flame-colored curls spread across the pillow and her features smoothed by the sleep that had quickly overtaken her, she looked young and vulnerable. Not for the first time, I felt like an older sister, not a younger.

  I tiptoed out and made my way to the infirmary. I visited the privy, brushed my hair and washed my face. Then I went to stand beside the sleeping Ardal, half of me wanting him to wake up so he would know I was there, the other half knowing this peaceful slumber was what he most needed.

  Muirrin was hanging bunches of seaweed up to dry. “This kind’s called newt’s tail,” she explained. “It’s effective in an infusion for easing cramps. Tastes not unlike cress.” When I did not reply, she looked over at me and added, “He’s doing better, Sibeal. He’s been resting a lot more comfortably, and Evan says his water’s not so dark.”

  I looked down at the sleeping man. “Has he said anything today? Talked to you at all?”

  “Don’t expect too much, Sibeal. Breathing is enough of a mountain for him to climb. In fact, he asked for you, in quite presentable Irish. I told him you’d be here later.”

  A small, warm glow had awoken within me. “Thank you,” I said.

  A silence followed. When I looked across, my sister’s hands had stilled at their work and she was studying me intently. “Does his fate matter so much to you?” Muirrin asked quietly.

  I nodded, pleating a corner of Ardal’s blanket in my fingers. Fang was nowhere to be seen. She’d be needed later. The nights were cold; I did not envy Gull the three trips he made each night out to the privy and back. I had become almost reassured by the pattern of them, the creaking of the back door as he went out, the creaking as he came back in. I was used to falling asleep quickly once I knew Gull was inside again. But I was always glad of the warmth of my blankets and the shelter of my little chamber.

  “Why, Sibeal?”

  I believe our fates are tied up together. I could not say that to the ever-practical Muirrin. “I believe I can help him,” I said. “Later, I mean, when he’s stronger.”

  “Well, it does look as if you may get your opportunity. I think we’ll be able to pull him through this. Your man’s a fighter. Sibeal, you’re not crying, are you?”

  “Of course not. Muirrin, I’m going to my room awhile now. I’ve agreed to tell a story after supper, and I must decide on one.”

  I managed to hold back the tears just long enough to get past the curtain that screened my chamber. I sank down on the pallet, put my head in my hands and allowed myself to weep.

  CHAPTER 5

  ~Sibeal~

  And so,” I said later, to the hushed audience in the dining hall, “Osgar drew his sword and gave battle, and he slew the Gray Man; and at the sight of her brother lying in his blood, Ailne fell stone dead from grief. And as for the Fianna, they feasted long into the night on the fine food and drink they found in that place, and slept late into the morning. But when they awoke, all was gone: the dun, the rich tapestries, the fine accoutrements, even the grim cell in which their captor had immured them. There was only the grass and the trees and the sun rising in the sky, telling them it was time to move on. You’d have thought nothing at all had happened to them, save for the sheepskin Conan wore on his back, as if it were part of his own body. In all the years of his life, that skin stayed with him, and when his wife cut his hair for him, she had to shear his wool as well. As she was a practical woman like my sister here,” I gave a nod in Clodagh’s direction, “she kept it until she had enough, then spun and wove it into all manner of useful items. And that is the end of my tale.”

  Uproarious applause told me I had chosen it well—it was a story they would all know already, concerning the great warrior Finn and his band, and how they fell foul of Ailne and her fey brother. Such tales made good entertainment without sparking debate or touching the heart too deeply; it was suitable for tonight. Knut was shouting approval with the rest of them. Svala was absent. Perhaps she was all alone down in the fisherman’s cottage, huddled over a small fire, or sitting by a single, guttering candle. No, that was wrong. I imagined her on the shore, staring out into the west in the dark; or walking, her bare feet steady and sure across the pebbles of the beach. Or sitting on the rocks under the rising moon, waiting for the seals to swim by. Her heart aching, aching for a loss that could never be made good . . .

  Someone thrust a cup of mead into my hand. I almost dropped it into my lap, so startled was I—for a moment, the wave of sorrow had borne me to another place.

  “All right, Sibeal?” Gareth came to take the cup from me and set it on the table close by.

  “I’m fine, but—”

  “You will stay for the music, Sibeal?” It was Alba, her hair tied back in a ribbon, her fiddle and bow in her hands. She glanced sideways as she waited for my reply, and one of the Connacht men, a handsome, red-haired fellow, smiled as if he had been waiting for her to notice him. Alba grinned, showing her dimples. Behind her, Niall was plucking notes on his harp, frowning, tightening a peg or two.

  I had been about to plead exhaustion and make my escape. “Of course,” I said. “I’ve been looking forward to it.”

  Alba and her brother were expert musicians. They were joined by a deft-fingered fellow on the whistle and two very fine drummers. I could see that people were itching to dance, but holding back out of respect for Knut and the recent losses. It seemed to me that Knut would have been up and dancing himself, with or without his wife—he was tapping his foot—if anyone had suggested it. On another occasion I would have enjoyed the music. Tonight, I could only wait until I might leave without offending anyone.

  “May I introduce myself and my friend here?” A courteous voice: the warrior standing in front of me was one of the visitors, not Alba’s redhead but a shorter man with a genial smile and a head of dark curls. “I’m Brendan, son of Marcán, and he’s Fergus. Both of us from the district of Long Hill, originally. That was a fine tale.”

  “Thank you. I am Sibeal, daughter of Lord Sean of Sevenwaters, as you know. Johnny’s cousin. A druid, or on the way to becoming one.”

  “May we sit here, Sibeal?”

  I nodded; I could hardly say no. Then I had one of them on either side of me, and the music playing on, and all I could think about was Ardal lying awake in the infirmary, like a little boy waiting for his mother to come and tuck him i
n. Though, of course, it was nothing like the same.

  “. . . and my father’s land stretches from the west coast across to Hidden Lake,” one of the men was saying.

  “Mm,” I murmured, considering whether I might amuse Ardal with a story, should he still be awake when I finally got there.

  “. . . hoping to end it, once and for all. Fursa Uí Conchobhair has long had his eye on Curnán’s holdings; if we don’t put a stop to it now, it’ll soon go much further than cattle raids . . . ”

  “Mm.”

  Clodagh was looking tired again, despite her afternoon sleep. She sat at the far table with Cathal, her head resting on his shoulder. The music continued, but folk with children were beginning to extricate them from the crowd and shepherd them off to bed. Johnny was deep in conversation with the leader of the Connacht men, perhaps mapping out the next day’s activities. They were moving objects about on the table as if to indicate a battle plan: this spoon is the bridge over the stream, and this bowl the lake . . .

  I realized that one of the men had just asked me a question, and I had no idea what it was. Which of them was Brendan and which Fergus? As I floundered for something to say, the tall figure of Kalev loomed before me.

  “That was a fine story, Sibeal. If you wish, I will escort you back to the infirmary—I need to speak to Evan. When you are ready.”

  A savior in unlikely form. “Thank you,” I said, rising to my feet. “I’ll bid you good night,” I said to the two Connacht men, smiling at each of them and allowing Kalev to take my arm. “Thank you,” I murmured again as we moved away between the tables. “I did need rescuing.”

  Kalev flushed. “They expect much of you. More than is reasonable.”

  “I’m happy to contribute a tale or two. It’s part of a druid’s job.”

  He said nothing until we were out of doors and walking across to the infirmary. The wind was rising; the torches made long flaming banners, lighting the way.

  “You tell tales, you tend to the sick, you speak prayers for the dead, you bestow your smile on the man who fights and on the man who passes you the basket of bread,” Kalev said, surprising me. “You are young.”

  I thought about this awhile. “I started down this path when I was much younger,” I told him. “It’s a calling. It doesn’t seem unreasonable. Only when—” I stopped myself. After all, I did not know this man very well.

  “When your thoughts take you elsewhere, and men expect you to show fascination at their own small tales?”

  Kalev had come uncomfortably close to the mark. “It was discourteous of me,” I said. “I let my mind wander.”

  “Here, let me open the door for you.” We were at the infirmary. Through the cracks between the shutters, lamplight shone, and smoke rose from the chimney.

  “Thank you, Kalev,” I said before we went in. “You’re very thoughtful. And perceptive.”

  No reply to that save a familiar reddening of the cheeks, visible even in the half-light.

  Inside, Evan was packing up, ready to hand over to Gull. And Ardal was awake. His eyes were on me from the moment I stepped through the door; I felt his gaze as I might have felt the warmth of a fire. Now I was the one with burning cheeks.

  “How is he?” I asked, glancing at Evan.

  “I’m pleased,” said my brother-in-law. “The signs are better today. We’ll move him when Father arrives. Kalev, perhaps you’d stay and help us. We must get some clean blankets on the bed.”

  “Of course,” Kalev said. “Evan, I’ve something to put to you before Gull arrives.”

  “Mm?”

  As they talked, I went to sit by Ardal’s pallet. “I’m here,” I murmured as the other two men continued their conversation over by the workbench. I took his hand. He was still deathly pale, the skin stretched tight over the strong bones of his face. It made his eyes look huge, their brightness almost uncanny. “You look better,” I said. “That makes me happy.”

  His thumb moved against my palm; I felt his touch somewhere deep inside me, disturbing, intimate. Wrong. And yet I could not bear to take my hand away.

  “I missed you,” he whispered.

  My cheeks grew hot, embarrassing me. It was his unfamiliarity with Irish that made him speak thus, no doubt, giving the words an intimacy he had not intended. I could not think what to say.

  “. . . fellow could do with some support,” Kalev was saying to Evan. “Maybe the challenge was foolish, but he has made it now, and we are all of the opinion that Johnny will let him go through with it, if only to illustrate the dangers of acting on impulse. Knut is well liked. If Sam won’t let him have a sword, the men will lend him one, and some of us are prepared to give him some practice in between our other duties. But seven days . . . that is not much time. He needs some expert instruction, and our best are all occupied with the Connacht men.”

  “What about you?” Evan asked.

  “You know I cannot teach as Gull can. Besides, I am required to work with the visitors. But I will not ask your father to help if to do so will cause offense or bring back sorrowful memories.”

  There was a pause. “You should ask him,” Evan said. “Provided you can be there to demonstrate on occasion, I believe Father will be delighted to do the teaching part. He never admits to it, but he misses fighting more than anyone imagines. Are you so keen to see Cathal defeated?”

  Kalev chuckled. “That is unlikely, Evan. Some of the men think Knut misguided. Most saw the courage behind his bold challenge. He will not defeat Cathal; nobody expects that. But Knut is a warrior like us, and far from home. It seems right that we help him to acquit himself as well as he can.”

  “What does Cathal say?” I could not help asking.

  “Once I have Gull’s answer,” said Kalev, “I will find out.”

  Soon after, Gull arrived, bearing the inevitable pot of broth. While I heated it, the men lifted Ardal from the bed, wrapped a blanket around his shoulders and installed him in a chair by the fire. As if she had merely waited until this disruption should be over, Fang yapped outside the door, and when I let her in she ran straight to Ardal and leapt onto his knee. I saw him wince as she landed, but when I would have lifted her down, Ardal put out a hand to stop me. “Nann,” he murmured, or something like it. No.

  The men were talking about Knut and the challenge. “I suppose I could give him a bit of advice,” Gull said. His voice was as calm as if he’d been asked to help with planting a row of carrots, but his shoulders had straightened as Kalev had put the request to him. I wondered if people forgot that he had once been a warrior of superb skills and dauntless courage. Did they still tell the tale of how he had rescued Bran from incarceration? “I like Knut’s spirit. I like a man who can summon good humor even after such a disaster has befallen him. Though challenging Cathal was perhaps taking things too far. On the other hand, I do wonder if what you’re suggesting is quite fair.”

  “You can’t believe this will give Knut the advantage,” Evan said as he whisked the blankets from the bed and threw them into a corner.

  “Hardly,” said his father, who had fetched a container of aromatic dried leaves. Scents of lavender, peppermint and chamomile arose as he sprinkled them over the straw-filled mattress. “He’s got seven days practice with the new swords, we’re not offering him the training the other men are getting, and his ordeal in the shipwreck must have weakened him, not to speak of the fact that he hasn’t so much as touched a weapon since he got here. If he’d challenged one of the Connacht men I might be tempted to lay a wager, odds on the Norseman. But Cathal? It’d take a miracle. Between us, we might prepare him to the point where he won’t embarrass himself utterly. I mention fairness because . . . well, I don’t suppose this is what Johnny would expect us to do.”

  Kalev smiled. “I think it is exactly what he would expect us to do. Now that you have agreed, Gull, I will tell both Johnny and Cathal what we plan.”

  “You’d have no hope of keeping it secret anyway,” Gull said with a grimace. He st
ood with arms folded as Evan and Kalev remade the bed with clean blankets taken from a storage chest. I thought I saw Clodagh’s touch in the neatly folded supply. “We’ll have to snatch time when we can. Johnny will only sanction this if it doesn’t interfere with anyone’s regular work.”

  “I’ll help in here,” I offered. “I can’t do the heavy work, but I can give Ardal his meals and keep an eye on him while you’re busy during the day, Gull.”

  “Thank you, Sibeal.” Gull smiled at me. “Your visit to Inis Eala is hardly the rest Johnny tells me it was intended to be.”

  “I never asked for a rest,” I said. “I’m very happy to help.”

  “Better get Ardal back to bed,” Evan said when the pallet was freshly made up. “Then we’ll leave you to it, Father. My belly’s rumbling.”

  Gull glanced across to Ardal, seated with the fire’s glow warming his hollow features and the little dog curled peacefully on his knee. “Leave him for now,” he said. “Sibeal and I will manage.”

  “I don’t think—”

  “Go on, Evan. The man’s barely been out of his bed since he got here. You and Kalev take those blankets down to Biddy. Ardal’s only got to stagger a few steps across the chamber. We’ll cope.”

  Evan’s gaze passed over us: a man with damaged hands, a slight girl of sixteen. “Good night, then,” he said.

  “Good night, Sibeal, Gull,” said Kalev, and the two of them went out.

  “Well, then,” said Gull. “You’d best eat something, Ardal. Sibeal can help you. And then we might have a tale. Firelight’s best for tales. Kalev was saying you entertained them down there with the story of Finn and the Grey Man, Sibeal.”

  “That’s right.”

  “That probably makes it my turn now. Have a think about what you’d like to hear.”

  I filled a bowl with broth and, after a moment’s hesitation, passed the spoon to Ardal. “I’ll hold the bowl,” I said. “See if you can feed yourself.”