Son of the Shadows (62 page)

Breathe deeply, Liadan

. I felt the comforting calm of Finbar's thoughts as he wrapped my shuddering mind in his, showing me light on water, the bright flame of oaks in autumn raiment, the torch on my mother's little curragh, a candle burning, the rays of the afternoon sun shining on the sleeping form of my small son, quiet under the willows.

Now. Better? That was very hard. What will you do?

"There's no choice," I said aloud, rubbing my wet cheeks with my sleeve. "Sean asked me to go there for

Aisling. I must ride out straightaway, and when I get there, I must. . ." My mind shrank from the prospect. I could not tell Sean what I had seen. I could hear his voice now, Such a man cannot be trusted . . . who was ideally placed to pass this information straight to the Britons'

? Who would believe the word of the Painted Man over Eamonn of the Marshes? Who would accept the shadowy visions of the Sight as evidence? Sean had said, You bear a portion of the blame for this, Liadan

. I

could not tell Sean. I longed for Father to be home. He would know what to do. But Father had not returned from Harrowfield, and there had been no word, and now there was no time. I would not seek help from Conor. I knew what he would say.

That man has fulfilled his purpose. Don't waste your energy on him. The child is the key

.

"What will you do?" Finbar's clear gaze was compassionate. He did not offer any advice.

"Right now," I said, "feed the child and change him, and walk back to
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Sevenwaters. In the morning, I'll ride out for Sidhe Dubh and hope, when I get there, that I will know what comes next."

Finbar nodded. "I did wonder," he said, "I did wonder ... it is a long time since I dwelt in a world of alliances and strategies and betrayals. But it did seem to me that there was something unspoken here."

"Something I might use to my advantage, if it was correct."

"Indeed. We had the same thought, then."

"It is hard to believe Eamonn capable of such treachery," I said, but in the back of my mind I saw the look in Eamonn's eyes as I refused his offer of marriage; the look of a man who sees only what he wants to see; a man who cannot bear to be defeated.

"Best tread carefully," Finbar said. "I would help more if I could. Still, you have an Otherworld messenger already." He was looking at Fiacha, where he sat perched on the low branch of a rowan, close by where Johnny now stirred among the bracken.

"I have a messenger, yes." I bent to change Johnny's damp clothing. He was awake, but quiet, for once not urgent for sustenance. It was as if the secrecy and serenity of this place had set its imprint even on his infant consciousness.

"A very powerful one. I need not ask who sent him to you."

"He came to Sevenwaters," I said, knowing that Finbar was the one person to whom it was safe to speak of this. "Ciaran. On the night of Mother's wake. He left the bird, and he told me the truth about who he was. Uncle—"

"What's troubling you, Liadan?"

"It was a terrible thing to do, not to tell us the truth as soon as it was known that my sister and Ciaran loved one another. At least if they had done that, Niamh would have understood that Ciaran had not abandoned her without a thought. She could have held onto that in the dark times. And I might have come earlier to the understanding of the threat to my child."

"Is it Ciaran you fear, though he gave you this gift?"

"I don't know. I don't know if he is friend or foe. Ciaran said—he said his mother offered him power.

That she was waiting for him to make a choice. He was very angry." I shivered. "Angry and bitter."

Finbar nodded slowly. "He's young yet. But his years of discipline must count for something.

Conor would say, it will unfold as it must."

"Exactly what Ciaran said."

"Like father and son. That's the pity of it. There was good reason for our silence, Liadan, both then and earlier, when the child was brought back to the forest. None of us wished to see our half brother raised by Lady Oonagh, and turned into a weapon for our destruction. Conor sought to strengthen the boy against these influences. But the old evil is very strong. Oonagh is but one of its tools; perhaps there is a darkness within Ciaran's spirit that must always come forth, despite him, to wreak havoc among his mother's enemies. What happened was not simply chance. Each of us recognized that the thing we thought we had defeated was again alive and among us, and we doubted our strength to combat its power. Each of us felt the same terror, the awakening of a fear such as we had known but once before in our lives. To many folk, the evil thing Oonagh did to the children of Sevenwaters has become the stuff of legend, an oddity from some magical tale of long ago; yet I need but close my eyes to see her standing there before me, laughing in my face, her hair a dark flame, her eyes like poison berries, to feel myself beginning to change, to tremble with terror as my human consciousness slips away from me. I will never be the same; the path I once saw before me is shattered forever. In what happened to Niamh and to

Ciaran, I saw again Lady Oonagh's cruelty and my sister's pain. The work the Sorceress wrought
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that day is lifelong; the fear, the guilt, the hurt of it are with us for all our days. How could one begin to share his burden with a son or daughter? How can one bear the grief of seeing it begin to blight your strong

young lives? Perhaps we denied the truth, even to ourselves."

"You saw my vision; if I do not go to help him, Bran will die, and others too, and that will truly be a triumph for the powers of evil. But I'm afraid. Not for myself, but for Johnny. The Fair Folk warned me not to take him away. And there's the prophecy. Mother would not have wished me to go against that."

"You are strong. But what you attempt will be perilous, make no doubt of it."

"I don't feel strong right now." I put my son to the breast and willed my breathing slower. "I feel powerless and afraid. I fear that I will be too late."

There was a silence; then the voice of Finbar's mind, unusually tentative. I believe I will not see you for some time, Liadan. Do not forget me. For my future is bound up with this child's. I have seen this.

It's important, my dear. Don't forget. There will be many distractions

.

I won't forget. And I thank you, for your help. You have a great skill in keeping these visions under control. In holding the terrors of the mind in check. Your skill, too, is considerable. And you are learning to harness it. You are indeed a remarkable young woman.

Tour man spoke true when he called you a light in the darkness. Ah, now you weep again. Best shed these tears now, for after today you will have no time for weeping.

It would be a long ride. Once before, Sean had covered the distance in less than a day, hastening through the dark to answer my urgent call for help. But with a baby, there would be a need for stops along the way, to feed him and let him rest, and I myself would tire more quickly, bearing him on my back as I

rode. A cart was unthinkable, too slow, and too hard to maneuvre and to defend on the narrow ways.

We had laid Liam to rest at dusk, under the great oaks of Sevenwaters. Discreet messages had been sent; Conor was coming, but he had been away and could not reach us in time. Padriac had moved on from Seamus Red-beard's home at Glencarnagh; perhaps he was already embarked on some new voyage to distant lands. His visits were rare; he had never wanted a part in the guardianship of lands and community. But it was sad that no brothers, no sister stood there in the fading light under the ancient trees to bid this stern chieftain farewell.

We made a fire and burned wolfbane and pine needles. Sean spoke of our uncle's strength and courage;

I of his dedication to family and tuath. The people of household and settlement stood by, silent.

It was a somber departure for such a great man; in time, perhaps we would be able to celebrate his life and his passing with the gathering of folk, the feasting and music he deserved. But not yet.

These were dangerous times, and the news of this sudden death could not be spread indiscriminately abroad.

Afterward we took a quiet cup of ale in the kitchens around the fire. Outside, through the night air, a terrible sound rang forth, a howling of grief and abandonment that echoed the emptiness in our own hearts. This lament went on and on until my head rang with it and I could not keep back my tears. Then

Sean got up and went to the door, and, looking out into the darkness, he called, "Neassa! Broc!

Enough now. Inside, the pair of you!"

And after a little while, the howling ceased, and my uncle's two wolfhounds came in from the dark, their whiskery heads lowered, their tails between their legs. Sean sat down again, and the
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dogs went to him and settled one on his left side and one on his right. It was at that moment, I think, that my brother became lord of Sevenwaters.

Johnny and I were ready at dawn, and Sean stood on the steps to bid us farewell. I rode the strange, small horse that had once belonged to the Painted Man, and it seemed to me she showed an eagerness to be off that was more than just the anticipation of exercise and fresh air.

Fiacha waited on a post nearby, his head to one side. Watching him, the horses shifted uneasily.

"I'm grateful for this, Liadan," said my brother gruffly. "Bring her back here if you can. And tell Eamonn I

need to talk to him. You'll have to break the news of Liam's death. After that, he must surely see the urgent need for another council. The alliance must regroup, and swiftly. I must establish my own place, make it clear I am my own man. Ask him if he will come here and see me. But first, make sure Aisling is safe."

"I'll do what I can. Now we must go. It's a long way. Farewell, Sean. May the goddess light your path."

"Safe journey, Liadan."

A day and a night and part of the next morning it took, and every step of the way I was willing the pace to be faster, and gritting my teeth every time my son woke and wailed and we must stop yet again to tend to his needs. I bit back words of frustration as my men at arms told me Lord Sean had insisted we stop to sleep, for a while at least, and that they prepare me a proper meal.

A lady could not be expected to travel rough, as a warrior might. So they set up a small shelter for me and the child, and stood guard while I lay there, open-eyed in the night, watching small clouds cross the face of the waning moon. And on the morning of the second day we rode across the causeway to Sidhe Dubh, with Fiacha flying dark-winged above us.

We had passed the outer guard posts with no great difficulty. The men there knew me and recognized my men at arms, who wore the white tunic of Sevenwaters with its symbol of interlinked tores. They let us through with no more than a raised eyebrow as Fiacha circled, squawking. Nor were we turned back at the entry to the causeway. But one of the guards shook his head doubtfully and said, "You'll not be given admittance. He's letting nobody in, and he'll make no exceptions, not even for a lady." There was something in his tone that suggested he was not entirely comfortable with the situation. But clearly they had their orders.

So we crossed to the inner gate, the entrance to the long, curving underground way that led up to the courtyard with its high, encircling walls. As before, there were two very large guards with axes in their hands and two massive black dogs, growling.

"Identify yourselves!"

The guards stepped forward, and the dogs pulled their chains taut.

"The Lady Liadan of Sevenwaters, come to see the daughter of the house," said the leader of my escort.

"We are all of that household, and I am amazed that you fail to recognize us, Garbhan, it being less than a season since last we shared a jug of ale in this very hall. Open your gates for us. The lady has come a long way and is weary."

"There's no admittance. And no exceptions."

"I'm not sure you understand." My man's voice was confident; his hand hovered by his sword hilt. "The lady is come to visit her friend. She has a small child with her, as you see. This is the sister of Sean of

Sevenwaters. If there is any doubt, please send word to the Lady Aisling. I am certain she will welcome our party."

"There are no exceptions. Lord Eamonn's orders. Now take yourselves off before I loose the dogs."

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The dogs appeared all too keen to be loosed, as Fiacha began to swoop down toward them, just beyond reach of their snapping jaws, and fly upward again to repeat the maneuvre, accompanied by derisive croaks of challenge. Johnny awoke and began to cry.

I edged my little horse forward. "Leave this to me," I told my men. I attempted the sort of tone Liam might have employed. "Fetch Lord Eamonn," I said. "He will see me. Tell him Liadan is here and must speak with him. Tell him I have information for him and that it's important and that I will not take no for an answer."

"I don't rightly know, my lady. Lord Eamonn's not to be disturbed, and he did say, no exceptions."

Fiacha flew past, so near to the man's face that the lethal beak came close to taking an eye out.

"Tell him."

"Yes, my lady."

We waited. Eamonn did not come down, but after a while the guard returned and the chain was unfastened and the gates unlocked, and we rode past the slavering dogs and up the long, curving way to the courtyard. There were many, many guards all the way up. Enough guards, I thought grimly, to secure the most difficult of prisoners. In my heart, I knew Bran must be here somewhere. He must be still alive and able to attempt an escape, or why maintain such a presence of armed men? When we emerged into the light, the courtyard was bristling with them, and outside the entrance to the house was Eamonn, looking stern and distant. He stepped over to help me dismount. Johnny was wailing, and the bird added his own distinctive voice to the din.

"Liadan," frowned Eamonn, "what are you doing here?"

"What sort of welcome is that for a friend?" I asked him. "We are weary, and I must tend to the child."