Seer of Sevenwaters Read online

  I stood up, thinking the occasion demanded it, and found I was trembling. Clutching my hands together, I gave an account of what I had experienced—the sudden waking, knowing something was wrong; coming through the doorway to see the shadowy figures locked in struggle; the realization that Knut was trying to kill Ardal. Felix. I would have to get used to that. I told of my attempt to intervene, and Knut flinging me to the floor. I did not speak of what I had felt: the two men’s tumult of dark emotions. “I . . . created a distraction, with the fire. Knut lost his grip on Ardal. Then I—I spoke to Knut, I accused him . . . He said no, I was mistaken. He was angry. I thought he was about to hurt one of us, perhaps both of us.” My voice shook.

  “Take your time, Sibeal,” Johnny said.

  I drew a steadying breath and went on. “Ardal moved in front of me and Knut slashed at him.” I would never forget that. In the face of Knut’s knife and his murderous eyes, Ardal had used his body to shield mine without a second thought. So quick. So brave. He would have died for me.

  “And then Gull came in,” I said. “I didn’t see the next part, I was helping Ardal—Felix—but Gull hit Knut, and Knut fell. Gull told me to bring the rope and go for help, and I did.”

  “Thank you, Sibeal. Please sit down.” Johnny turned to Gull. “Is that an accurate account, Gull?”

  “Sounds about right to me,” Gull said. “I was in the privy when I heard Sibeal call out. When I came in Ar—Felix was facing Knut with Sibeal behind him. Knut used his knife; Felix went down. The situation being what it was, I disabled Knut.” He glanced at the Norseman. There was no judgment in his eyes. As was the pattern of things on Inis Eala, everyone would be heard before any determination of guilt or innocence was made. “Felix was hurt, maybe Sibeal as well. Someone had to go for help. So I gave Knut a tap on the jaw, just enough to put him out of action so we could tie him. Once I had reassured her that Felix would live to see the sun rise, Sibeal was prepared to go and fetch you.” Gull smiled at me, then was somber again. “Felix has a bruise on his neck—show them, Felix. A man who puts pressure on that particular spot knows what he’s about. His intention is to kill, quickly, efficiently, silently. If there hadn’t been a seer in the next room, Felix wouldn’t have lived to tell us his story. His killer could have come in, done the deed and left again before I got back from the privy. Such a man would think, perhaps, that I wouldn’t notice my charge was dead until he failed to wake for his breakfast. That, of course, is not fact but theory.”

  “It is not important now—none of this matters—there are men in need, men suffering, I must go there—”

  “Enough.” There was a certain voice, a very quiet voice, that I imagined made even the most hard-bitten of Johnny’s warriors take heed. Johnny used it now, and Felix fell silent, but the tension in him had me on the edge of my seat, full of unease. “Perhaps it’s better if Felix goes to rest now, and gives us his story in the morning,” Johnny added. “Evan? Muirrin?”

  “No!” Felix shouted, springing to his feet and suppressing a sound of pain. “You must hear my tale tonight! There are lives in the balance!”

  “You seem in no fit state to tell it,” Johnny said.

  “I’ve a suggestion,” Gull put in quietly. “Let Sibeal ask the questions, and the rest of you back off a bit. It’s quite plain that Felix needs to tell this now. But the man’s been through hell. Anyone who can’t see that on his face must be half blind.”

  It made sense. Who could be relied upon to be calm and even-handed, if not a druid? And if Ardal—Felix, I must think of him as Felix—trusted anyone here, it was me. But to do this with all of them watching, to do it with Knut only a few paces away, Knut with his jaw clenched tight and his eyes glinting and the anger building in him with every speech that Kalev translated . . . I must view this as a test of inner strength.

  “Please,” Felix said. “Please hear me.”

  Words burst from Knut, a torrent of furious Norse.

  “Knut objects to this idea,” Kalev said. “He believes that because of Sibeal’s attachment to this man, she cannot be impartial. She will persuade you all to believe Felix’s story over his, no matter how outrageous it may be. No doubt he has already told her this tale, and she has instantly taken it as truth, as a woman does whose feelings hold her in thrall. This man is a liar, a manipulator. Knut offers his respect to you, Johnny, and asks if this can wait for morning, so it can be heard before a representative group from the island community.” He cleared his throat, looking down at the floor. “I translate exactly what Knut has said.”

  Johnny turned quite slowly to face Knut. He addressed him in measured Norse. When he was done, he said, “I’ve told Knut I’ll hear his story before Felix’s—that will give Felix time to compose himself. I’ve made it quite clear that I believe we have a representative group here tonight and, in addition, that I have gathered this particular group because I have complete trust in each member of it. Knut does not understand, perhaps, what it means to be a druid.” He looked at me, and I saw the ghost of a smile cross his lips, gone almost as soon as it had appeared. “Lastly, I explained again what the agitation of the moment may have caused some people to forget. On Inis Eala, I am leader and the final decision on any weighty matter is mine alone.” He looked at Kalev. “Kalev, please ask Knut to give his version of what happened tonight. Tell him to stick to the facts and to keep it brief. He can start by telling us why he was in the infirmary at night, carrying a weapon.”

  I did not watch Knut as he gave his story, and I did not watch Kalev as he translated it. My eyes were on the man we now knew as Felix, and my heart felt the force of what was in him: grief, guilt, horror, anger. A desperate need to act, so desperate that it came close to driving him mad. It was taking every bit of strength he could summon to stay seated there beside Gull, and not to speak. I willed him to look at me, and he did. A face drained of color. Eyes full of demons. Mouth a grim line, jaw as tight as Knut’s. Hands in white-knuckled fists. If ever a man needed the comfort of touch, it was this man, now. I ached to wrap my arms around him and tell him everything would be all right. I longed to feel his heart beating against me. Gods, now I was blushing; my cheeks were hot. What would he think? Stop this, Sibeal; it is completely inappropriate.

  There was one sign I could give him, and I did. As unobtrusively as I could, I crossed the first fingers of each hand, one straight, one slantwise, to make the rune Nyd: inner strength, courage in the face of the impossible. I held this only for a moment, for I had no wish to provide Knut with another reason to doubt my impartiality. Felix would need help to get through his account, and I was the best one to give it. As my hands returned to my lap, Felix unclenched his fists and made with his two hands the rune Ken, the torch. Light in the darkness.

  Knut spoke with vehemence, illustrating his account with gestures. Kalev’s translation was much calmer. “That man”—Felix—“has been spreading lies about me, dangerous lies. Yes, I came here to frighten him. Yes, I waited outside until Gull was out of the way. No disrespect to Gull, a fine warrior, a man of heart, but it is a standing joke among the men here that he’s up to the privy three or four times every night. My intention was not to kill. I always carry the knife. Where I come from, a man would be a fool to go about by night with no weapon at the ready. I did not expect that the girl would wake and come in. I am sure I made no sound at all. My intention was to give this man a fright, a warning that he must stop spreading his evil stories. He paints me as a bad man to cover for his own failings. He wants me sent away. I have done nothing wrong, nothing. He is a meddler. He speaks nothing but lies.”

  “Kalev,” Johnny said, “remind Knut that I said stick to the facts. You wanted to frighten Felix, you said. How did you do this?”

  Knut stood with hands on hips, the bruise from Gull’s blow darkening on the fair skin of his face. “I pressed my fingers against his neck, there, where he has a mark.” He was making no effort to conceal the hostility in his eyes as he looked at Felix. Tho
se eyes said plainly: You should be dead. “Not to kill. Why would I kill here on Inis Eala, such a good place? I wished only to scare him, to teach him a lesson. The girl ran in, got in the way, fell down. The man fell. Everything was mixed up, hard to see in the dark, shouting and commotion. When I tried to help, the girl thought I would attack her. She called me a murderer. Why would I do that, attack a helpless woman? In the confusion, the man was hurt. An accident.” When Kalev had rendered this, Knut added, “Gull hit me, and I saw no more. I am grateful that he did not hit me harder.” He favored Gull with what looked like a grin of genuine admiration.

  “Thank you, Kalev,” Johnny said. “Ask Knut if he has anything further to say. I don’t want his opinion on Felix or Sibeal or anything about the situation, only facts.”

  A brief interchange. “Knut says he has given his account, and he thanks you for your fairness. Not every leader would have allowed him to explain, given the circumstances.”

  “Tell Knut he can sit down.”

  Knut seated himself on the stool by the pallet. Kalev and Gareth remained standing, one on either side of him.

  “We’re ready for Felix’s account, Sibeal,” Johnny said. “What is the best way to do this?”

  Trust your instincts, said my inner voice. I moved to sit on the rug before the fire, not far from Felix’s bare feet. Breathing steadily, I blocked out my awareness of the others in the chamber, concentrating on the man beside me, and Gull seated next to him like a wise guardian. “Tell me what just happened, Felix,” I said, as if the three of us were exchanging tales before bedtime. I felt the warmth of the fire; I saw its light flicker strangely in Felix’s eyes, flame on dark water. “Start from the moment when you woke up, before I came in.”

  “But this is not—”

  I reached up and put my hand over his, on his knee. “I know the other part is more important for you,” I said, “but you must tell this part first. Remember that you are among friends.”

  “I was sleeping. I heard—I heard—at first, the creak as Gull went out. I heard this without waking. Then suddenly the hand was on my neck, the fingers pressing—I knew it was Knut. Who else could it be?”

  I asked the question before anyone else could. “How did you know who it was? Could you see him?”

  “I was barely awake, and the light was dim . . . I knew because he had threatened me before. Said he would kill me if I told the story of our past. I knew, as the fingers pressed down, as I felt my heart jump and my breath falter, that he had come to carry out his threat. But I have said nothing. I have spread no stories about him, good or ill. There was nothing to say. Until tonight, all I could remember about this man was that he boarded Freyja as a crewman.”

  I felt cold all over. “When did Knut threaten you?” I asked.

  “Soon after we came here. Early days, when I could remember almost nothing. He thought I was dissembling, biding my time before I chose to tell. He said if I spoke of what had happened he would slit my throat.” A silence, as his audience exchanged shocked glances. “And when he believed I had disregarded his warning, he threatened you, Sibeal. It was the day when you found that man’s body. Knut said . . . ” Felix cleared his throat. “He said he knew you and I were friends. He told me how you liked to walk on the cliff paths, alone. He . . . he suggested an accident might befall you.” He looked up, and straight across toward Knut, who watched him, tight-lipped. “I did not understand what dark secret could drive a man to such baseness. Not then. So I planned to leave Inis Eala as soon as I could, knowing that if I was gone, I could tell no secrets, and you would be safe, Sibeal.”

  “I have a question for Knut,” Gareth said.

  Johnny nodded.

  “Knut, if this is true, what stories were you talking about? As far as I know, Felix has hardly left the infirmary since he was washed up on Inis Eala, and barely exchanged a word with anyone save the healers and Sibeal. I’ve heard no tales at all about you or your past beyond what you told Johnny, and nothing at all suggesting ill-doing. I’d wager that when I say that, I speak for all the men. They think highly of you.”

  When Kalev had translated this, Knut fixed Felix with an icy stare. “He lies,” he said. “I made no threats. His story is sheer fantasy.”

  “So we have one man’s word against another’s,” said Johnny. “Sibeal, we’d best hear the rest of Felix’s account.”

  I had a host of questions, but they would have to wait. Conducting this conversation as Johnny needed it to be done was my best way of helping Felix in the long run. Dear gods, whatever he was going to tell us, let them not call him a liar.

  “Felix, we’ll go back to tonight. You told us you woke to find Knut with his hands on your throat. What happened after that?”

  “Everything fading, my heart about to burst, everything turning to dark. So weak, oh gods, so weak—I could do nothing against the press of his hand. A sudden scream—yours, Sibeal—and my assailant struck out, but still he held me. The fire flared strangely, I saw shadows leaping above me, and the pressure was gone . . . I rolled from pallet to floor, and there you were, Sibeal, crouched, hurt. I had been scared before, with his fingers on my neck. The wheels of the Ankou’s cart were creaking just outside the door. Now I really knew fear.

  “You rose to your feet, like a brave warrior, and confronted Knut with the truth. He said it was all a mistake, but he lied, for as he spoke he drew his knife and moved toward you. I did not stop to think. I was there, standing between the two of you, hoping I could be strong for long enough. Then, welcome as warm sun at midwinter, came Gull. The door creaked, he called to us, Knut slashed with his knife, one, two. My head struck something as I fell. I lost consciousness. When I woke . . . ” He shivered convulsively. “When I woke, it was there in my mind, the memory that has eluded me for so long. There is a tale to tell, a tale to make men weep. Before morning, that tale must be told.” Felix looked across at Knut, whose face was like stone. “We have done a terrible thing,” he said. “We have betrayed our comrades. Knut would have killed to keep that tale from coming out.” He lowered his eyes. “A strange twist, Sibeal. Until he cut me, until I struck my head in falling, I had not remembered the story he so feared.”

  For a little, then, there was utter silence in the infirmary, save for the distant, restless wash of the sea.

  “Thank you, Felix,” Johnny said. “We’d best hear this tale of yours.” He looked around the circle of watchers: Cathal with his shoulder against the wall, long form wrapped in his cloak; Muirrin and Evan seated together on one side of the hearth, Gull on the other beside Felix, I cross-legged on the mat. Grim Knut with his two tall guardians. The firelight flickered on the circle of somber faces. “Is there anyone else you believe should be present to hear it?” Johnny asked.

  Felix shook his head. Johnny looked at me and gave a little nod.

  “Felix,” I said, still finding it quite odd to use this name, “where does this tale begin? With the departure of the ship from Ulfricsfjord, or earlier? Will you tell us what brought you and your brother to Erin?”

  “I . . . of course, but I . . . ” He drew a shuddering breath. “I come from Finistère, in Breizh—the region known to you as Armorica. My father is a councillor to Duke Remont, who rules there. My mother is a Norsewoman. My brother and I grew up speaking both tongues. We left our home when . . . ” He faltered, eyes dark with memory.

  “Take it step by step,” I said quietly.

  “Paul had the skills and strength to be a warrior; he was a member of the Duke’s guard. I was more apt at scholarly pursuits. Full of ideas. Argumentative. Too ready to speak out. My tutors warned me, but I never learned to hold my tongue.”

  A sound of derision from Knut, when Kalev translated that for him. Gareth hissed something in Knut’s ear, and he fell silent.

  “Not all of this need be heard tonight,” Felix said. “Enough to say that certain words of mine came to the Duke’s ears, words challenging the authority of the Church and the influence of the bis
hops over Remont. My father’s secure position at court, which he had held for many years, was suddenly under threat. Rather than make a groveling public apology, I left. Paul came with me.

  “We crossed the water, first to the southwest of Britain, to a place where other Breizhiz had settled. Our skills found us roofs to sleep under, coins for our pockets, food to sustain us. Paul was a strong-hearted man.” His voice cracked. “He could set his hand to anything. I found work as scribe and translator—I can read and write Latin, and I knew Irish already, thanks to Brother Seanan, a traveling scholar who stayed at Remont’s court. So we came to Erin.

  “I helped Paul. Helped him with his Irish, helped him learn. And he . . . he guarded me, he kept me safe. He was the home I carried with me.” His head came up, his eyes went to Knut, and if I had seen death on the Norseman’s face before, now there was a look to equal it on Felix’s gaunt features. “You killed him,” he said, and his tone was the punishing stroke of a flail. “If you had not bound him, he would have swum to safe shore. My brother was young. He was strong. For his courage, you fettered him, and he died.”

  I saw Johnny look at Gareth, and Gareth give him a little nod. What it meant, I did not know.

  “Felix,” said Gull, not bothering to ask Johnny for permission to speak, “how long is it since you and your brother left home?”

  “Almost three years. I was seventeen when we left that shore, Paul one year my senior. For the last two years, we have been at the court of Muredach, King of Munster. I am—was—the king’s translator and chief scribe. Paul was personal guard to Muredach’s son Eoghan.” A pause. “He became both guard and friend.”

  “Was it on behalf of the king of Munster that you were on the ship?” I ventured.

  “We bore gifts,” Felix said. His eyes were calmer now, as if he saw the bright promise of the voyage, the hope with which it was begun. “Muredach’s son is to wed the daughter of Jarl Thorkel, ruler of the Orcades. Those items you showed me were chosen by Eoghan as gifts for his betrothed and for her mother. Our party was led by Muredach’s senior councillor—one of the men you buried here on the island, along with Paul. Paul . . . my brother did not need to come on the voyage. There were others in our party who could have fulfilled the role of guard. Eoghan did not want Paul to come with us; the two of them had become close, and the prince said he would miss Paul too much. But my brother said that he had made a promise to watch over me, and that Eoghan would be so busy over the summer with riding and hawking and games that he would scarcely miss us. Either he stood by his little brother, Paul told the prince, or he left Eoghan’s service altogether. Eoghan let him come with me. He let my brother follow me to his death.”