Sevenwaters [06] Flame of Sevenwaters Page 23

  Even when a person feels so exhausted she can hardly set one foot before the other, she can always find more strength somewhere. Set aside everything that’s in your way, Bran had said. Anger, guilt, grief; the pain in your body, the doubt in your mind. Keep going. Find the flame inside yourself.

  “Time to go, Bear,” I said, rising awkwardly to my feet. “I’ll try to keep up.”

  But I could no longer go so fast, and Bear slowed his pace to accommodate me. At the next stream we stopped to drink, the two of us lapping side by side, Bear much more capably than I. We paused on a rise to look across the terrain ahead, mostly oak forest, the limbs half-clothed in their autumn raiment, and here and there a thicket of elders or birches whose leaves had already fallen, allowing light to penetrate to the forest floor beneath. I saw no clearings, no tracks, no stone walls, no evidence of human presence at all. Up another rise, where an oddly shaped rock formation stood gray against the fiery hues of the foliage, the low sun caught something white, moving fast. Almost as soon as I had seen it, it was gone.

  “Swift,” I muttered. “It’s Swift. We can reach him, Bear.” Finbar. My heart was tight as a clenched fist. Even as I spoke, I knew my brother could not have come so far on his own. The first part, maybe, if he was trying his very hardest. But this distance, a distance greater than I had covered the day Bear and Badger led me to the dying man? Impossible. He could not be riding Swift; Swift had never been trained to the saddle. Either Finbar had already come to grief, or someone had taken him.

  We ran on, down the hill, across a little valley all springy, thorn-armed branches, up the other side toward the rocks. The sun had sunk almost below the treetops now, and it would soon be dusk. What was I to do if I could not find my brother before dark? “Be there, be there,” I muttered, as Sensible Maeve said, Turn for home right now, or you’ll be stuck out here all night with no warm clothing, no food and no means to make fire. Not that you could do that even if you’d thought to bring flint, knife and tinder. Run back and fetch men, horses, lanterns. If Finbar dies of cold, it will be your fault for rushing off and trying to do everything yourself.

  Finbar was not by the rock formation or hiding in the shallow caves beneath it. He was not at the top of the hill or anywhere to be seen in the place that lay beyond it, a little valley of tall stones, their shadows lying long and eerie across the ground. There were no trees here, only squat, misshapen bushes growing at random. After the leafy depths of the forest this was another world, a place of sharp corners and treacherous, pebbly slopes. A chill wind whistled up the valley toward us, like the breath of a great cold giant.

  “He’s not here.” But I had seen Swift. I was sure I had.

  Bear was sniffing the ground, seeking the trail. He went one way, then the other way, then came to stand beside me, head down.

  “Finbar!” I told him. How could I make him understand? With darkness almost upon us, we must concentrate on my brother’s scent and set Swift and Badger aside. They, at least, were not likely to perish from cold in a single night. No, I would not even think of that. “Find Finbar. Go, Bear!”

  But Bear would not go on. He padded a few steps forward, then halted, looking at me over his shoulder.

  “Go! If he went that way, we must follow!” You probably lost his trail long ago, said Sensible Maeve. Turn around. Go home.

  Bear did not understand. He was a dog; how could he? I had thought he was following Finbar’s scent, but it had just as likely been Badger’s. And Badger might have been on his own all along. Never mind that. Hold on, little brother, I thought. I’m coming to find you.

  “All right, Bear,” I said. “If you can’t find the trail, we’ll have to take the likeliest path, and that leads right down this valley. If it gets dark we’ll go back and shelter in those caves for the night.” Without food, water or blankets. I hoped very much that Badger was still with Finbar. I hoped…No, I would not think of Mac Dara. The age of the black dragon was dark indeed.

  The valley was narrow and steep. To either side stood the tall stones like ancient sages, moss-cloaked. Some of them bore grooves across their corners, patterns of threes and fives and sevens, or characters that resembled forked twigs or combs or little men. Were they the Ogham signs used by druids, or an older, stranger language? Sibeal would have known. Perhaps the signs were warnings: Step no farther. This way lies death.

  About halfway down the valley, Bear left the path and began scuffling beside one of the stones. He ran back to me with something in his mouth.

  “What is it, Bear? Show me, good boy.”

  He dropped his find at my feet. The light was already fading, and at first I thought he had picked up no more than a few wisps of dried-out foliage. Then I looked again, and saw that it was a little animal fashioned of grasses, a familiar creature with a long snout and a fronded tail. Although somewhat the worse for wear, it was unmistakably the one Rhian had made for Finbar that day at the cottage. He must have kept it in his pouch all this time. He had passed this way.

  “Well done, Bear. Good boy.” I stroked his head; he leaned against my leg for a moment. “Down to the bottom there. We just have time. You try to pick up the scent, and I’ll look for footprints.”

  For a little while it seemed we had found what we were seeking, for Bear moved forward with confidence, nose to the ground, and I thought I could see the marks of small feet here and there among the great stones, as if my brother had taken time to stand by each and read the signs carved there. But when I came to the third stone and looked more closely at the prints, I saw that they were much too small to be Finbar’s, and that in addition, the foot that had stood here had been unshod, and its owner had only had three toes. You’re imagining things, said Sensible Maeve. You’re conjuring monsters out of dusk and guilt and fear.

  “Bear,” I said, coming to a halt. My heart was cold. “We’re not going to find him before dark and it’s too late to go home. We must walk back to those caves and get through the night as best we can.”

  We turned and went back up the valley. As we did so it came to me how quiet this place was. Uncannily quiet. At this hour, back in the nemetons, all manner of birds would be winging to their roosts and the forest would be alive with their cries. Here not a single bird called. The place seemed empty of life, save for my dog and me. Logs, logs, a hundred logs, two hundred he piled up, and a thousand birds lost their homes. “A pox on it, Finbar,” I muttered. “I’m never letting you tell me a story again.”

  Before it grew quite dark we reached the shallow caves at the foot of the rock formation. Rain had formed a pool in the hollow of a stone that might almost have been set there for the purpose. I crouched down to drink; Bear lapped with unusual restraint. He could have gone off to hunt for supper—I had no doubt he had provided for himself and Badger as well as he could during their time running wild—but he would not leave me. We wriggled into a little cavern, Bear on his belly, I on knees and elbows. When we were as far in as we could go, we curled up together on the earthen floor. Beyond the opening the sky grew dark. I tried and failed to curb my imagination. Finbar, crouched in the forest somewhere, shivering, white-faced, staring out into the night. Or worse: Finbar in the clutches of whoever had taken him. Finbar perhaps already dead, treated with the same arbitrary cruelty as Cruinn’s lost men.

  “He can’t be dead, Bear,” I murmured against my dog’s warm back. “I told him the story would have a happy ending. I’m not letting Mac Dara make a liar of me.”

  Swift out in the forest, running, running, eyes wild, racing forward in sheer mindless panic. Swift crashing over a bank, misjudging a fence, smashing into a tree. Swift with his leg broken, writhing on the ground. You will not think it, I ordered myself. You will not see it.

  Badger all alone. Badger lost again, this time without Bear to provide for him, to be his strength, his companion, his guardian. Badger, who had come so far and done so well, suddenly back in his old nightmare, and all because he had done the right thing. I was sure he h
ad gone after Finbar, sensing there was no time to run and fetch us. “Good boy, Badger,” I whispered. “Be strong. If you are with him, keep him warm tonight. We’ll find you, I promise.”

  The moon rose. The night grew bitterly cold. Here, away from the valley of the standing stones, there was at least the reassurance that we were not the only living beings in the forest, for I heard an owl, and later another creature, not a bird but something that shrieked high in pain. Bear lifted his head.

  “Calm, Bear. Safe haven. Kind hands and brave hearts.” I spoke as much to myself as to him. I could not stop the bouts of trembling that shook my body; I could not banish the nightmare thoughts, try as I might. I should have fetched help. I had been utterly foolish. This was all my fault.

  Bear did his best to help, but he was cold, too. We pressed close together, Bear’s nose against my neck, my arms around his body. Oh, for a blanket, a cloak, a shawl, an old sack, anything at all to cover us! The night air was like winter’s sharp teeth on the skin; it turned the blood to ice. Bear shuddered against me; even he could not fight the chill. It came to me that the two of us might die tonight, and that nobody would ever know what had befallen us. We might lie in this little cavern until we were no more than bones and teeth and hair.

  “Bear,” I whispered, “you’re the best dog in the world.” I realized something had been changing within me, almost without my knowing it. When I thought of Bounder, it was as the dear friend of long ago, the companion of my childhood. Though he would never lose his place in my heart, he was gone. This dog who lent me his ebbing warmth, this creature who shared with me each shuddering breath, was the loyal, courageous friend of today and tomorrow. “We’re not going to die,” I told him. “We’re going to live until morning, and then we’ll go out there and find Finbar and Badger and Swift. It’s not going to end like this, in a miserable, pathetic death caused by my own stupidity. I won’t let it happen.”

  Bear licked my cheek. His tongue felt cold. I nestled closer, hoping I was not making a liar of myself.

  The night wore on. Worse than the biting cold was the fear that filled my mind with dark visions, stretching my courage thin. I did not sleep and nor did Bear. I told him stories through chattering teeth. My family’s history was full of acts of bravery, and I faltered my way through every one I could think of, from the tale of my grandmother, who had undone a sorceress’s curse over her brothers, to Uncle Bran’s imprisonment and torture and Aunt Liadan’s amazing mission to save him. I told him about Clodagh and Cathal and the changeling baby Mac Dara had left in Finbar’s place. “You know, Bear,” I muttered, “I’m sure you and Badger have a story that’s just as remarkable as these, if only you could tell me what it is. What sent you running out into the forest on your own? What made you wild, when it’s plain you are a house-and-hearth kind of dog? I suppose I’ll never find out.”

  Stories, I could just manage. Making a sensible plan was beyond me. There was no thinking beyond the rising of the sun and the time when we could creep out of our bolt-hole and go. Staying alive until the morning seemed a high enough mountain to climb.

  It was the longest night of my life. Time passed in a sequence of slow, shivering moments, punctuated by the cries of birds and the occasional passing of something on furtive, padding feet. It was dark; out there the moon must be veiled by clouds. I ran out of stories, but it felt important to go on talking, for to fall silent seemed to be taking one step closer to death. I chanted their names like a prayer: “Finbar, Badger, Swift. Finbar, Badger, Swift.” After a while, remembering Cruinn’s sad, strong features and his kindness, I added some other names. “Tiernan, Artagan, Daigh.” Still alive? Was it possible? If the small magic of naming could win them one day longer, one hour, one moment more of life, I would do it. If remembering them helped keep them strong, I would remember. “Finbar, Badger, Swift. Tiernan, Artagan, Daigh.” It came to me how puny I was beside the might of Mac Dara, and how foolish my small effort was against his malevolent power. “All the same, Bear,” I whispered, “a name is strength. A name is something to hold on to. A name is something to fight for.”

  Bear sighed and pressed his muzzle against my neck. He was close to slumber. I did not want him to fall asleep. My mind had already shown me an image of myself at dawn, waking to find him lying stone cold beside me, never to rise again.

  “Stay awake, Bear,” I said, prodding him. “I need you—”

  The words dried up in my mouth. Out beyond the cave entrance a light had appeared, not cool moonlight, but the warm gold light of a lantern. Someone had found us.

  Bear struggled to rise in the cramped space, a growl sounding in his throat. I hissed softly in his ear, a warning to be still. If it was a search party, my father, Luachan, Doran, why hadn’t they called out to us? Whoever it was had approached in complete silence. I had heard no footsteps on the rocks beyond our refuge. My heart pounded.

  “Maeve!” The voice was a woman’s, clear as a church bell and sweet as nectar. “Maeve, come out! I have a warm cloak, a blanket, food and drink. Come out, my dear.”

  I neither moved nor spoke, but Bear, disturbed, let out one warning bark before I hushed him.

  “Maeve,” the woman said, “I am a friend. It is safe to leave your hiding place.”

  I sucked in an uneven breath. How I longed for that warm cloak. Almost enough to risk everything. The speaker was close to the mouth of our shallow cave, perhaps bending to peer inside, for the glow from her lantern set twin golden points alight in Bear’s wary eyes.

  “I can help you find your brother,” she said.

  We came out. There was no dignity in it, what with the need to wriggle on elbows and knees with my skirt caught up in awkward folds and the dust of the cavern floor everywhere. Bear emerged ahead of me and a fanfare of barking broke out. I came out into the night and rose shakily to my feet. “Ssst!” I hissed as my eyes struggled to accustom themselves to the lantern light. The barks subsided to growls and then to an obedient silence as Bear came to stand beside me, his flank pressed against my thigh.

  The woman was tall, taller than most men. A hooded cloak of deep blue concealed much of her form, but her face was illuminated by the warm light of the lantern, which she had set down on a stone. It was a lovely face, perfectly oval, the eyes large and lustrous under fine arching brows, the mouth sweet as a rosebud. The woman’s skin was remarkable, for it seemed to hold a light within it, as if she herself were a lamp. It was not possible to look on such a person and believe her anything but good. And yet…

  “My lady,” I managed, feeling the hard thumping of my heart and willing myself to stay calm, to listen carefully, to think clearly. “My brother—Finbar—you know where he is?”

  The woman smiled. “Half-frozen, covered with cuts and bruises, all alone in the dark, and the first question you ask me is this? Come, child, wrap this cloak around you and take some refreshment. The night is cold and you are far from home.” Somehow there was now a dark woollen cloak over her arm where before she had held nothing at all. In her other hand was a little basket, cunningly woven, from which the most delicious smell arose, like fresh-baked bread hot from the oven. Bear made a tiny sound.

  “My brother,” I said, not moving an inch, though every part of me longed for the cloak’s warmth around my shoulders. “Finbar. Please tell me where he is. He’s only seven, and it’s cold—I need to find him quickly.”

  “Is my kind so soon forgotten,” she said, “that a daughter of Sevenwaters does not know me? Can it be that Lord Sean’s daughter is too proud or too foolish to accept help in times of peril?”

  Every instinct told me to apologize, to take the cloak, to accept food for Bear and myself, and only then to seek answers. It was Uncle Bran’s training, perhaps, that held me back even now. “Forgive me,” I said, wrapping my arms across my chest in a vain attempt to stop shivering. “I mean no discourtesy. But I don’t know you. I have never met you. And I have no cause to trust strangers right now, even when, as you point
out, I could do with some help. What I need is to find my brother and take him safely home. If you can assist me with that, I would welcome it.”

  She smiled. “You will not be strong enough to find him if you refuse to accept warm clothing, food and drink, Maeve. Here.”

  Somehow the cloak dropped itself around my shoulders. I was suddenly warm, oh, blissfully warm, the feeling spreading from the roots of my hair to the tips of my toes. It felt so good that for a few moments I was speechless. I lifted the side of the garment to accommodate Bear.

  “Thank you,” I said when I could speak again. “Will you tell me your name?” She was fey, no doubt of it. This was my first encounter with the Tuatha De, and it seemed as though she expected me to know who she was. The only names I knew were the Lady of the Forest and Mac Dara. White Dragon and Black Dragon. But the Lady had gone away years ago, and despite Finbar’s story, I did not imagine this was she.

  “Eat first, Maeve,” she said, placing the little basket beside the lantern and unfolding a delicate cloth all embroidered with tiny images of forest creatures. “And drink.” There was a flask there, too, though I had not seen it a moment ago. The stopper was off, as if she had anticipated what my difficulties might be with using such a vessel. Oh, that smell of new bread!

  “No, Bear,” I warned as he edged forward. “My lady, I cannot eat or drink these offerings.”

  “No? This flask would be easy for you, Maeve. As for the food, I can help you if that is needed, but it is all in small pieces.”

  I found myself somewhat disturbed by this. She had not simply stumbled on me, but had prepared carefully for our meeting.