Seer of Sevenwaters Page 24

  There was something uncomfortable about the silence that followed. I guessed what Muirrin was going to say before she came out with it.

  “Sibeal, this is conjecture. For Knut to lie about something so significant seems extraordinary. Besides, if he and Svala lived on a lonely isle all by themselves, what was he doing on the crew of a vessel heading out of an Irish port and bound for the Orcades? Given his account and this one, side by side, there’s no doubt at all which people would believe.” She was scrutinizing me closely. “You’re close to Ardal, I know. Have you told him this story?”

  I was annoyed to feel my cheeks flaming. “No. I was on my way back from the cave when Clodagh called me to join you in the kitchen. The only person I’ve seen since Svala showed me the vision—apart from you—is Knut, and I said nothing about it to him. Muirrin, you can’t be suggesting I’d alter the facts so Ardal’s story will be more credible than Knut’s when it finally comes out.” I was hurt and dismayed. I deeply regretted sharing the vision with them. I should have learned by now that such insights are best kept to oneself. “Besides, this is Svala’s story, not Ardal’s. As far as I know he still can’t remember anything about all this.”

  “As far as you know?” Brenna asked, glancing from me to my sisters and back again a little nervously. It was unusual for us to argue.

  “I think perhaps he’s remembered more than he’s told,” I said. “But he won’t talk about it. All he cares about now is getting strong again, so he can leave.”

  Another charged silence.

  “Which is exactly what Johnny wants, isn’t it?” I added, as misery crept over me despite my best efforts to withstand it.

  After a while, Clodagh said gently, “He was always going to leave, Sibeal, as soon as he was well enough.”

  “And so are you,” said Muirrin. “Best if you step back from it all, Sibeal. That’s what we believe. You saved his life. That was a remarkable act of bravery. I know you care about him. But Ardal’s a grown man. He will survive without your protection.” When I did not respond, she added, “Sibeal, of course I don’t believe you would alter the facts. But you’ve told me yourself how hard it is to interpret visions, and how their meaning is often something quite different from the images you see. And Svala is hardly the most reliable of guides in these matters.”

  I sank into silence, wishing profoundly that I had kept the tale for Ardal to hear first.

  They continued to talk, moving from the voyage to other matters. After a while Biddy and Flidais came out to join us and I remembered, belatedly, why we were gathered together. I sat beside Brenna as the other women chatted about their children, their daily work, their men. Muirrin’s comments were still there, nudging at my mind, unable to be forgotten. I set myself a test: while the others made guesses as to whether Clodagh and Muirrin would produce sons or daughters, I imagined myself in a situation like Brenna’s. Brenna was telling a story now: how Sam had been playing with little Fergal, and had kicked a ball so hard it sent a line of washing straight into the mud. Even as she related how she’d scolded Sam and made him and Fergal pick up the clothes, her voice was warm with love, her laughter soft with tenderness.

  My mind conjured up a pleasing image: there was I, firelight warming my face as I sat by the hearth. I was carving Ogham signs on birch sticks. On a table were an ink pot, quills in a jar, a sheet of parchment. A young man sat there writing. Chestnut hair over his shoulders; eyes like deep water under evening sky. A thin, strong-jawed face, a straight nose, a generous mouth. Ardal. And on the mat before the fire, an infant in a smock. The child had a crop of wispy dark hair. It sat with its legs stuck out, and between them lay a small pile of rune rods. In my imagination, the infant selected one, waved it about, then dropped it and chose another. And another. Os, Ger, Nyd. The child looked up at me, beaming with delight at its cleverness, and its eyes were of the palest blue-gray, so light as to be almost colorless. Like Finbar’s. Like mine.

  Look, Sibeal, said Ardal in the daydream. She’s chosen the same runes you were shown in that very first augury, after you saved my life. I turned toward him, smiling, and saw that beyond the open shutters lay, not the stark open spaces of Inis Eala, but the myriad greens of a great forest. Another druid in the making, Ardal said.

  Sudden tears sprang to my eyes, startling me. That had felt real. It had felt true. My heart ached for it; my body was full of a mindless longing. What was wrong with me? I knew it would never happen. You thought you’d never give up your vocation, a voice whispered inside me. You thought you’d never even consider it. But you’ve met the one man who could change your mind. He is your perfect complement. He is Cathal to your Clodagh; he is Bran to your Liadan. No wonder you conjured up those images. No wonder they make you weep.

  This would not do. It could not be so. I would not allow myself the indulgence of such fantasies again. I would banish them from my mind. For my commitment was already made, if not formally until I spoke the words of my pledge, then most certainly in my inner heart. Who could deny the call of the gods? I had known my path since I was a child not much bigger than that little girl, my daughter who would never be born.

  Later in the afternoon I left my sisters and returned to the infirmary, only to find that Ardal had gone out walking with Gull.

  “They were heading toward the place of the boat burial,” Evan said. “I don’t imagine Ardal will get all the way there, even with support, but he insisted on trying.” I took my cloak back off the peg where I had hung it, intending to follow them. “They’re probably best on their own, Sibeal,” my brother-in-law said quietly. “Ardal’s had a long time of looking weak in front of you. That sort of thing is shaming for most men, especially when the woman is someone he cares about.”

  “But—” I was stunned by this. Ardal had not seemed to mind my seeing his weakness in those early days, and he’d been ready enough to talk and to listen. But I could not discount Evan’s words. This was a man’s insight, something I would not have thought of myself. The treacherous image of earlier came back to me as I retreated to my chamber: that impossible future in which I was Ardal’s wife and the mother of his child. Just thinking of it, I could feel his arms around me, his fingers stroking my hair. All the sweet things he had said to me whispered through my mind, a gentle spring breeze across a harsh winter landscape. Inside me I felt something unfurl with tentative grace, reaching for the light.

  I prayed. I sought wisdom in the voices of the gods. I murmured my way through passages of lore. I studied the charcoal runes I had marked on the walls that first day, before I knew Ardal existed. I watched the shadows lengthen.

  Eventually they came in. I heard Gull’s voice, low and encouraging, and Ardal’s patchy response, a word, a pause, another word. Sitting behind the curtain that screened my chamber, I knew how tired he was.

  I did not go out into the infirmary. I stayed quietly on my bed, wondering what Ciarán would think best under the circumstances. How would my wise mentor interpret Svala’s vision? Perhaps he would think it best that I told Johnny before Ardal. The answers lie within you, Sibeal. I could almost hear him saying it. Ciarán never told me what to do. On occasion he would remind me that the skills I had learned in the nemetons would help me find my own solutions. It was the druid way. Sometimes, when the voices of the gods were silent, it felt profoundly lonely.

  When it was time, I went to supper. After we had eaten, the musicians played, and I told the tale of Deirdre and Naoise, which is a sad love story. And after that, Kalev was persuaded to step up and give us a tale from his homeland, a strange, violent tale about a girl who married a snake. I congratulated him afterward and made him blush again. When I got back to the infirmary, Ardal was already asleep.

  Something jolted me awake. I sat up, my heart pounding. All was silent. Had I heard the door creak a moment ago? Or was it only the wind? No: beyond my curtain, I could hear stealthy footsteps on the infirmary floor. A chill sense of wrongness filled me, leaving no room for the obvious e
xplanations—Gull heading out to the privy, Ardal wakeful and restless. I slid out of bed and snatched up my shawl. As I drew the curtain aside, a voice screamed in my mind: Help!

  The place was in near darkness, the fire damped down, the lamps quenched, the candles snuffed out. There was just sufficient light to show me an amorphous dark mass where the sleeping figure of Ardal should be; something was moving, struggling, and I heard a sound of stifled pain. A wash of feelings flowed through me: shock, terror, desperation, hatred. A fierce will for survival; a dark need to kill. Two men were locked in a ferocious struggle. One of them was dying. I felt the juddering, halting heartbeat in my own breast. He was fading away, leaving me forever . . .

  I flung myself across the chamber, taking in the attacker’s flaxen hair, his awkward stance with one knee up on the pallet, his fingers on Ardal’s neck, pressing hard. I grabbed his arm, trying to haul him off. He was like a rock, immovable. “Gull!” I screamed. “Gull, help!”

  The arm came back, swatting me off like an unwelcome insect, and I crashed to the floor, jarring hip and elbow. My mind edged toward blank terror. Oh gods, in a moment Ardal would be dead, and I couldn’t, I couldn’t . . . You are a druid, Sibeal, said a small, strong voice inside me. Use what you know. Use what is already here. A distraction. I needed him to let go just for a moment. A moment of elemental magic—use what is here—fire, glowing red beneath a blanket of ash. Now, quick! I concentrated my mind on that red, feeling its heat, feeling its strength in the beating of my heart. Help me. Help us. I spoke a word I had learned from Ciarán, a word of power.

  The fire flared into sudden brilliance, flames shooting high. The attacker uttered an exclamation, perhaps a Norse curse, and in that instant Ardal rolled out of his grasp, toppling off the pallet and landing on the floor beside me. His breath was the scrape of metal on stone.

  I struggled to my knees, then to my feet. The fire had died down now. Knut was standing very still, facing me; the flickering light played in his eyes, and set a gleam on the knife at his belt.

  “You were trying to kill him,” I said, hearing the cold iron in my voice. “I saw you leaning over him with your fingers on his neck. I saw you.”

  “No, no,” Knut said, taking a step closer. “You see nothing. Mistake.” His hand went to the knife’s hilt. “You see nothing at all. Yes?” There was a small, metallic sound, and now the weapon was in his hand.

  How Ardal managed it I do not know, but he was up in a flash, grabbing me by the shoulder and thrusting me behind him. He stretched out his arms to shield me. His hands were shaking. His voice came in a harsh whisper, and although he spoke in Norse, I could guess the meaning. Lay a finger on her and you’re dead, I swear it.

  A crash as the back door was flung open. Gull strode in. The light from his candle sent shadows leaping around the chamber. “What in the name of the gods is going on?” he bellowed.

  In the moment of distraction Knut moved, slicing with his knife. Ardal cried out, staggered and fell. As he went down, his head struck the chest by the pallet with a thud.

  “Hold!” roared Gull, surging toward us, and there was a flurry of movement. I crouched down, my hand on Ardal’s shoulder. He was so still. So terribly still. I could hear the rumbling approach of the Ankou in his cart of stones. Then, nearer at hand, there was the sound of a blow and a thud, and Gull’s voice. “Sibeal, if you can get up, take my candle, light the two lamps and bring me a length of rope. Ardal, are you injured?”

  I did as I was told, knowing nothing could be done for Ardal without good light. With great presence of mind, Gull had set his candle on a shelf as he came back in. I touched the flame to the wicks of two oil lamps. A warm light spread through the chamber, revealing the prone form of Knut, facedown and evidently unconscious. Gull’s foot was planted on his back.

  “Ardal’s hurt,” I said. I did not sound like a person who had just performed an act of elemental magic. My voice was that of a frightened child.

  “Sibeal, the rope. Evan has a coil out the back.”

  When I brought it, Gull said, “You’ll need to make the knots for me. Wrists behind his back, ankles together. He’ll come to soon; I only hit him hard enough to stun, and I’ve cause to know how strong he is.”

  “Ardal—”

  “I’ll help him as soon as this is done. Not like that, wind it through and over . . . that’s it. Then I must ask you to go for help. I won’t leave you with Knut, even trussed up. What in the name of the gods was he doing? Did he try to assault you?”

  “He would have killed Ardal. I woke up and he was there, pressing his fingers into his neck. And then he slashed at him with a knife. Gull, please see if Ardal’s all right. He’s unconscious, and I think he’s bleeding . . . ”

  “This job needs doing first. Now the ankles. I got a good blow in because he wasn’t expecting it. I wouldn’t like my chances a second time. Tie it firmly.” He hauled the Norseman over to the wall, propping him in a sitting position.

  Gods, don’t let Ardal be dead, please, please . . . I’ll do anything, anything you want . . .

  He lay as I had left him, head on one side, face chalk white. There was a dark stain of blood on the floor by his side. Please, please . . .

  “Bring a lamp over, Sibeal.” Gull put his hand to the fallen man’s neck, feeling for the rhythm of the heart. My own heart strained to beat for Ardal’s; I sank my teeth into my lip, waiting.

  “He’s not done for yet,” Gull said, and I felt tears well in my eyes and flow down my cheeks, welcome as spring rain. “Roll up his left sleeve, will you, Sibeal? I think the blood’s coming from that arm. Ah, yes—a nasty flesh wound here, but it doesn’t look deep. I’ll wrap something around it for now. As for his head—” He moved up, supported Ardal’s neck with one hand, felt the skull gently with the other, under the thick fall of hair. “He’ll have a monstrous headache and a lump like an egg—it’s already swelling—but my opinion is he’ll survive both this and the knife wound. Ardal’s a man on a mission, even if he doesn’t quite know what it is. He’s not going to let something like this stop him. As for Knut, he has some explaining to do, and I don’t think it can wait for morning.”

  “Thank you,” I said, scrubbing my cheeks. “Gull, thank you.” For coming in when you did. For saving us. For being so calm and wise. For telling me Ardal isn’t dead.

  “Just wish I’d been quicker. You’d best go for help now. Straight to Johnny. Ask him to bring Gareth and Cathal, and maybe one of the Norse speakers, if someone can be fetched without waking the whole place. I suppose we need to hear both sides of the story, whatever it turns out to be. Likely you’ll find someone on the way here already; that was quite a scream. Enough to put a man off going to the privy by himself at night for a long time.”

  I fetched my cloak from my little chamber, then came back through the infirmary. Gull had placed a pillow under Ardal’s head and a blanket over his legs. Ardal was stirring; he muttered something in his own tongue.

  “Lie still, son,” Gull said quietly. “You’re hurt. I’m just finding a bit of bandage for your arm, and Sibeal’s off to get Johnny.”

  “I’ll be back soon,” I said, trying for a reassuring tone and managing a strangled croak.

  As I moved to the door, Ardal spoke. The sound of it stopped my heart. It was as if he had opened a window and found himself gazing straight into his worst nightmare. I understood in that moment that at last he had remembered.

  “We left them. Gods have mercy on us, we left them behind.”

  CHAPTER 9

  ~Sibeal~

  They went to find shelter, to find a safe place—if he hadn’t come back early—they wouldn’t listen—when Paul tried to—”

  After the long silence, now the words were pouring out of Ardal like water from a broken dam. He couldn’t keep still. Despite the knife wound, which Gull had bandaged—Evan would stitch it later, by daylight—he would not sit down, but paced and gestured, his body possessed by a restless energy. He was maki
ng very little sense.

  I had hammered on Johnny’s door, glad that he and Gareth had their own hut, since the alternative would have meant waking everyone in the men’s quarters. Gareth had gone to fetch Kalev and Cathal, while Johnny and I returned to the infirmary. By the time we got there Knut had regained consciousness, and both Evan and Muirrin had arrived, drawn by my scream.

  Once the other men had come in Johnny ordered that Knut’s bonds be untied. The Norseman seemed as desperate to explain himself as Ardal was, but Johnny silenced him.

  “You’ll get the chance to speak, Knut. Hold your tongue until I tell you it’s time. And don’t move unless you want to be tied up again.”

  “But—”

  “You heard me.”

  Kalev and Gareth stationed themselves on either side of Knut. Cathal came over to stand behind me, near the fire.

  Ardal was still talking. “ . . . and we left them there. Paul tried—he tried, but—” He made a wild gesture with his good arm, missing Gull’s nose by a hair’s breadth. “I must go, I must go straightaway—they may still be alive—”

  “Ardal,” Johnny said, stepping forward to put his hands on the other man’s shoulders, “we want to hear your story. But not like this, in bits and pieces. Take a deep breath and sit down.”

  “I cannot—I—”

  “That’s an order,” Johnny said. “Sit there beside Gull and don’t get up until I give you permission.”

  Ardal sat, agitation written all over his face. “My name is Felix,” he said in strangled tones.

  I fought the urge to go over and put my arms around him. I stayed where I was, on the other bench beside Muirrin and Evan. The best way to help him was to stay calm. I did not feel very calm at all.

  Johnny nodded. “Very well, Felix. We need your story, and it’s clear you no longer wish to hold it back. But first things first. I want a plain and truthful account of what just happened in here. Sibeal, let’s hear your version of events.”